One Temporary Escape
by The Sushi Monster
Summary: Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.
1. all young and naive

**Title: **One Temporary Escape  
**Summary: **Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.  
**Warning/Spoiler: **Post-"House of Victory"  
**Rating**: T/PG-13  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Various. Ensemble fic.

**Author's Note:** So basically, this is my "let's just take a bunch of clichéd Valentine's Day tropes and do it better!" Robbie is the student from "House of Victory" who counted the election votes. Enjoy!

**EDIT 1/26/13: **In the interest of actually finishing something, I have merely edited this chapter rather than rewrite it like I want to. I apologize in advance for how awkwardly this chapter (and the next) reads. Also please remember that this takes place towards the end of season one.

* * *

**One Temporary Escape**

1:_ all young and naive_

Heartbeat.

"You can't be _serious?_"

The two blondes faced each other, a tensed distance between them. One had his arms crossed across his chest, the other's hands buried in his sweatshirt pockets. One smirked.

"I'm totally serious. A three part bet," he said, his voice smug and daring.

The other silently seethed, steam hissing between his teeth. He reeked of hatred and disgust, fed up with the jealousy and anger and schemes.

"_Fine_," he finally agreed. "Terms?"

The resident bet-maker and prankster grinned with triumph. _I've got this in the bag._ "Winner gets out of chores for a month, free room-service for a week, and one I-owe-you, to be used as they see fit."

"And the loser?"

"Isn't the satisfaction of having me at your beck-and-call enough?" the smug one teased. The shorter one glared, so he laughed. "Fine, fine. Your call."

The other paused for a moment. "Loser has to streak through the hallways the morning after the Valentine's Day dance. Only socks."

A thoughtful nod and then – "sounds good." Pause. "So three parts – Nina and Fabian – will they be together by the dance?"

A hesitation and a frown, before: "No."

"Patricia and Alfie – a thing, or just friends?"

"A thing." It was said with a hint of a smile, masked by the utter revulsion aimed at the companion.

A devilish grin adorned the schemer's face. "Amber – single or will she end up with someone after the dance?"

Red stormed through his insides, firing his nerves and bones and muscles. He breathed deeply before answering, "single."

The other clapped his hands together. "So Nina and Fabian will be dating the day after the dance, Patricia and Alfie will not be, and Amber will have a boyfriend."

He ignored the gnawing pain in his gut, the guilty feeling of betrayal at meddling. _This is for revenge, the git_. "Whatever you say. Agreed?"

Heartbeat. "Agreed."

Two hands gripped and shook, the formation of an age-old manly bond.

Jerome smirked, Mick let himself grin, and the two parted ways, the gears turning in Anubis House.

* * *

Contrary to every other cliché she knew, Nina loved Valentine's Day. She would _no_t describe herself as jaded towards or skeptical of the very commercial and overblown holiday, and despite her single status, she appreciated the sentiments. Love – whether romantic or platonic – was celebrated that day, and whether it was Single Awareness Day or Valentine's Day, it was a day for affection, company, and chocolate.

And Nina loved chocolate.

The smell of waffles and Trudy's bright smile greeted her in the dining room that morning. Taking her usual spot beside Fabian, she noticed Alfie's sleeping form beside his untouched breakfast. Patricia shot him sympathetic looks every ten seconds.

"What's up with him?" asked Nina after swallowing a bite of blueberries and waffle, cautiously avoiding ruining her purple sweatshirt with maple syrup.

Patricia spared the dreadful looking Alfie one more glance before answering. "He didn't sleep well last night. Nightmares and, uh, yeah," she said, quickly stuffing food into her mouth to avoid any more questions. Nina nodded and glanced at Fabian who shrugged in her direction.

Jerome's entrance punctured the awkward silence, the sound of the apple leaving and hitting Jerome's hand in time with his strut. He pulled out his chair next to Alfie with flourish, completely ignoring his unmoving best friend. "So how's our favorite love septagon doing today?"

Fabian raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't that be an octagon? Why are you excluded?"

"So not denying your presence in the polygon, are we dear Fabian?" said Jerome, smoothly avoiding the question as Trudy swatted away his feet from atop the table and placed pancakes on his plate.

Fabian's cheeks tinted red and Nina tried to stop the smile that tugged at her lips. _You are so cute._ She pushed the thought quickly away though, saying, "whether Fabian's in the polygon or not, _you_ definitely are." Her eyes narrowed slightly on the way Jerome's jaw muscles twitched, drawing a slight smile to her lips. "So who do you like, Jerome?"

Jerome scoffed. "Who says I like anyone?" He returned Nina's calculating look with a, "what about _you_, Miss America? Who do you fancy?"

Heartbeat. Nina internally debated lying, before settling on a neutral answer. "If I liked someone – and whether I do or not, I'm not saying – I definitely wouldn't be telling you. What is this, junior high?" _Good. Safe. Not a straight-out denial, but not a definite answer either. _

"Touché," said Jerome, leaning back into his chair with a grin. He glanced at the clock once before stuffing a dry pancake into his mouth and slapping the back of Alfie's head. Patricia glared at him.

"He's sleeping, you idiot!" she said, eyes narrowed.

Jerome innocently raised his hands. "Fine, fine, tell him I'm leaving and to meet me at my locker before our first class."

Patricia's response was a cross between a snort and a grunt, and Jerome chuckled on his way out, Patricia's protective glare following his movements. The moment he was gone, Nina watched Patricia slap the back of Alfie's head sharply. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she said. When Alfie began to stir, Nina watched Patricia struggle to force the grin off her face. Alfie groggily rubbed his eyes.

"Time for school already?"

"Yes, you goof, get _up_," she said, her voice lightly teasing and tainted with affection. But when Alfie's head rested again on his pillow of arms, Patricia rolled her eyes, stood, and grabbed his arms. "That's it," she said, dragging him up and out. Nina giggled as Alfie followed, his eyes half-opened and his lips mumbling nonsensical phrases.

Fabian shook his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Oh Alfie."

"Oh Alfie, indeed," said Nina, her lips lifted upwards. "So I guess we better be off too?"

"Yeah, sure. Mick left early for a run and said he'd go straight there. What about Amber and Mara?"

"Amber left early too, she didn't say why," said Nina as she packed her backpack and swung it on her should. "No idea about Mara though."

Shrugging, Fabian offered his arm to Nina. Her stomach flittered, matching the tiny giggle that escaped her. Their arms intertwined as they walked to school.

* * *

Amber hated Valentine's Day.

She hated the frilly hearts, the abundance of _red_, melted chocolate, and sappy couples publicly expressing their love. She hated how society warped a day for celebrating companionship and friendship and love into day for marketing sweets and flowers and condoms.

She respected the origins of the holiday, but everything else about it annoyed her.

The day passed as quickly as her morning run – agonizingly slow. Wisps of blonde hair tickled her face throughout history and the sound of Alfie's snores distracted her during math. But somehow lunch arrived and Amber found herself in the lounge with the rest of her classmates.

Mr. Sweets stood proudly at the podium, the student representative beaming at his side. Her insides stretched and thinned, heat tickling the line between jealousy and resentment. No fire consumed her, however; only a sinking green caressed her gut. She imagined herself in replacement of the other girl, glowing, prepared to spread news to everyone, to have everyone's eyes glued upon her. She imagined Mick grinning widely at _her_, a swelled heart proud of _her_ accomplishments. She imagined herself with the life that had escaped her.

Her eyes burned, but she cooled them with the thought of poise and restraint, a purple haze settling the dust.

"Attention, students!" Mr. Sweet's voice carried over the gossip and chatter, silencing them. "Your new student class representative, the lovely Mara Jaffray, has an announcement for you all." A claw grabbed at her heart, squeezing, but she closed her eyes and felt the hand gradually retract.

When she opened her eyes again, Mara took the forefront, confident and ready. In the back of her mind, Amber felt pride, a longing for the friendship lost, for a rekindling of a connection buried.

"Hello everyone," said Mara, her voice shaking slightly. Amber watched Mara's eyes search the crowd and her lips curl up at the sight of something before inhaling a deep breath. "As I'm sure you know, next Monday is Valentine's Day and I'm sure many of you are excited for the dance!" With practiced grace, she paused long enough for the predicted cheers and applause. Mara's smile widened. "My first suggestion to the staff was a fundraising idea. Starting today at lunch, you can purchase Rosegrams. A Rosegram is simply three pounds and includes a rose and message. The message can be signed or anonymous and will be available for students to pick up starting Wednesday. For an extra pound, give the gift of chocolate as well – which I'm sure everyone can enjoy." Her voice was strong, a smile emphasizing every word. She continued over the growing whispers. "All the proceeds will go towards the fund supporting our music department." Fabian, across the room and beside Nina, beamed; Amber recalled the campaign promise he had extracted from Mara, ignoring the pang in her chest. Mara bit her lip. "So, that's it. Um – lunch time?" she finished awkwardly, but a rising chuckle greeted her words and Mr. Sweets said nothing as the throngs of students slowly left the lounge.

Predictably, whispers became intense discussions, buzzing with gossip. Amber reluctantly admitted that the Rosegrams appeared to be a hit.

Fabian's interest in buying one did little to surprise Amber; neither did Alfie's, who seemed to always be hopelessly in love with some girl or another. But when Mick and Jerome eyed the table where the rose package was sold, Amber raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. _Who _does_ Jerome like? And why does Mick need to buy a Rosegram when he can just tell Mara that he's sickeningly in_ _love with her._

_ Unless he doesn't love her. Unless he's secretly trying to send someone else a message._

Heartbeat. _Castles in the sky, Millington. Mick's dating Mara, get over it. You may still love him, but that means nothing. You need to get over him._

Amber returned her attention to her lunch, to Fabian's account of a funny incident in Biology, to Patricia's complaining about Mr. Winkler's weird attitude. She pushed Mick and Mara out of her head, shoved away in a coffin of broken hearts and misunderstood mysteries. She pushed away the things she could not control, focusing instead on what mattered, on what she _could_ manage. She focused on herself, Amber Millington, girl who hated Valentine's Day and stupid Rosegrams.

* * *

A constant barrage of green and red twisted in Jerome's gut, pulling and squeezing at him whenever he glanced _their_ way. She giggled when his arm ran around her shoulders, and she elbowed him in the side lightly when he whispered something in her ear, her lips struggling to stay still. He poked her in the side, tickling her momentarily as she squirmed out of the way and into Patricia, who shot them an annoyed look.

"Get a room, you two. Some of us are trying to eat without wanting to barf," she said, only betrayed by her slight smile.

Mara rolled her eyes but continued smiling. "Fine, fine. Mick and I will try to restrain ourselves."

Jerome was sure he was the only one who heard Amber's _sure you will_ when Mick tugged Mara towards him, eliciting a squeak. Thoughts of Amber brought forth memories of agreements and revenge, and Jerome's mind began spinning.

_How do I get Amber a date to the dance? One so perfect that she'd go out with him afterwards? Although using Alfie would be the most useful – keep him away from Patricia – that hasn't worked before. _His eyes rested on his best friend, whispering with Patricia and Nina about something or another. _No, I think Patricia and Alfie will be conquered with some well-placed gossip. Nina and Fabian will happen naturally, I don't need to do anything about that. Except maybe move the Fabes along. _Amber giggled at something Fabian said, but his eyes kept darting towards Nina occasionally, and the latter kept meeting them. Secret looks, covert late-night meetings… Jerome didn't need to do much there. _Which leaves Amber. _Mentally running through the list of eligible guys, he noticed that few would fit Amber's type. _Tall, blonde, athletic _–_ so basically, Mick. But that isn't going to happen anytime soon,_ he thought bitterly. Jerome had grudgingly promised himself that he would leave Mara and his feelings for her out of the bet. The goal was revenge, nothing more and nothing less.

_Revenge._ Images of an enraged Mick filled his mind until the perfect plan surfaced.

_ Jerome Clarke, you are a certified genius_.

As the students began piling out the cafeteria with the ring of the lunch bell, Jerome slowly wandered over to the table of roses and chocolates.

"Hello there, Mr. Clarke," said the girl at the counter whose name Jerome could never remember. "Would you like to buy a Rosegram?"

"Yes, please," he said, flashing a smooth smile. He took the offered paper with a, "thank you!" and moved off to the side, debating what exactly to write. A shadow crossed over him and he quickly snatched the piece of paper and whirled around.

"What are you up to, Clarke?" said Mick, his eyes suspicious.

"Absolutely nothing, Campbell," said Jerome smoothly, all innocence and smiles. "Planning on buying a Rosegram for Mara then?"

Mick shrugged, his eyes still narrowed towards him. "Yeah, I was." Jerome watched him pay the girl at the counter and pick-up two messages. Fabian and Alfie joined him, each buying two themselves.

"Well aren't you lot eager then," said Jerome, eying their double Rosegrams. "Two to one lady? Seems kinda desperate." His eyebrow shot up for a moment. "Unless I've underestimated my house brothers – exploring your options, are we?"

"Shove it, Clarke," grumbled Mick, retrieving a pen from his pack and writing _Mara_ on the first paper. "Who are you writing yours to anyway?"

Jerome decided to go with the truth. "You'll see eventually." He turned to Fabian. "So two for Nina, then?"

Somehow, Fabian managed to refrain from turning beet red. "No, only one's for her. The other I bought for her to give to someone. I don't know who," he finished, his voice appearing calm but Jerome could hear the hope inherent in each word.

"Okay mate," said Jerome, shrugging. He turned to Alfie, who was studying his messages in deep thought. "What about you?"

"I can't choose!" he said, throwing his arms up in frustration. "I mean, they're both amazing and pretty – but neither of them seems interested…"

Jerome glanced at Mick, who grinned smugly back at him. "Patricia and Amber then?" said Jerome with a small sigh. Alfie nodded, still frowning. "No worries. I will do some investigating – in any case, you will have a date to the dance, I guarantee it."

"And it won't be Amelia Pinches?"

"It won't be Amelia Pinches," said Jerome, laughing. He missed the Lewis to his Clarke, the easy air of teasing and pranking and assurances.

Alfie shrugged. "Okay then. I trust you, mate," he said, his voice clipped and tense. Jerome offered a fist to bump, but Alfie just nodded. "See you in class." Alfie followed the others to his next class, but Jerome noticed that he still held the two Rosegrams.

_Whatever, he won't send them anyway._ He tossed aside the violet worry, turning to the empty lines on the paper, begging to be filled.

Jerome and Mick silently scribbled away, the scratch of pen on paper drowned in the sea of leaving students. The two exchange stoic nods when they both handed a single Rosegram to the lady at the counter. But Jerome waited until Mick walked away, a rose-colored paper still in his hand, to ask for another himself.

_Who says I have to sign it._

* * *

The fact was, of course, that Jerome wasn't the first – nor was he the last – to think up of this so-called brilliant scheme of anonymity. For example, his biggest rival – who happened to share a great number of similarities with him – would, five minutes later, turn in an anonymous Rosegram himself.

* * *

The streak in her hair reflected her mood that day – stripes of rainbow, capturing the range of anger to sadness, cowardice to tranquility. Every moment felt amplified, subtle strokes of black and white coloring each heartbeat, each breath. Thoughts swirled around, never sitting still, always moving and always thinking. With so much activity surrounding her during the day, Patricia was glad to finally be back at Anubis House.

Voices reached her ears and she knew that they spoke words. Whether the sounds were English or Yiddish she didn't know, mysteries of a different kind clouding her mind.

"Patricia!" Selective attention grabbed her consciousness, dragging her to awareness. "Where you even listening to anything we just said?" asked Fabian, slightly annoyed.

Patricia shrugged. "I'm sure it was about whatever new clue Nina found in the spooky, old attic," she said, her voice barely concealing bitterness. "Let me know when we start worrying about Joy again, okay?" Annoyed and moody, Patricia decided she preferred solitude for the moment; so she bypassed the others at the foot of the stairs and headed for her empty room, Mara obviously spending every moment with Mick.

Her room however, housed a distressed Alfie, who appeared to be struggling over words. His faced grimaced when she entered and she scoffed.

"What, I'm not allowed to be in my own room?"

"No," said Alfie, shaking head, "I was just trying to be alone, and since no one was in here, I figured – "

"It's fine," she said without further questioning. "I wanted to be alone too."

"Silent-time?"

Patricia laughed. "What is this, elementary school?" Alfie stuck out a tongue at her, causing her to reply, "how very mature of you, Alfie. But yeah, sure."

The silence that fell sat comfortably, a squishy chair pregnant with homely essence. Patricia focused on _Jane Eyre_, while Alfie continued writing, his eyes darting between two half-sheets of paper, neither holding his full concentration. Eventually, the constant erasing and rewriting and frustration tipped over Patricia's curiosity and patience.

"_What_ are you doing, exactly?"

Alfie paused for a moment, staring at her. His eyes seemed to debate his options – whatever they were, he settled upon speaking.

"I'm writing Rosegrams."

"Oh." Patricia's stomach fell, tightened, and cooled in rapid succession. "To whom?" She hated the way her heart paused, reaching for scarlet and light.

"Um, I'd rather not say – you know, um, secrecy and all – " said Alfie, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh. Okay," said Patricia, biting her lip and looking away, perpetuating the sudden unease that pervaded the room.

Alfie turned to a Rosegram and studied it for a full minute before looking at her again. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you going to give one?" he asked, timidity subtly enhancing his speech.

Swirls – canary, cinnamon satin, black, mountain meadow, gray. A combination of desire and disgust reached her – _look at me, _wanting_ to go to a dance. Idiot. Girl power, Williamson! Girl power!_

"No," she lied smoothly, her stomach flipping between orchid and denim.

"Not interested in anyone, then?" She thought she heard plum coloring his tone, but she squashed the rose thought.

Patricia shrugged in response.

Quiet reigned again. The scratches quickened, and in five minutes, Patricia had read a grand total of two words, while Alfie had written around fifty.

"Done," he said, half-proud, half-hesitant. "Guess I'll turn them in tomorrow."

She wanted to question why he had written two – her brain told her that he liked Amber, so they were obviously for her – but another one? Yellow colored her vision as Alfie smiled and waved, leaving her finally alone. _Patricia, stop it._

And so yellow faded to blue, and slowly Patricia allowed the rainbow to consume her again.

* * *

Although Mara's brilliant smile warmed him slightly, Mick still felt cold without a sweatshirt wrapped around his torso until Mara stepped into his arms and embraced him. It lasted a few moments until they took up the couch, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her.

He knew he should question her about her day. _How were your classes? I heard you got your English test back, how did that go? Oh, I talked to Mrs. Andrews about the tutoring and she said it was a great idea. Yeah, Alfie got caught sleeping in Mr. Sweets' class; it was pretty funny._

And repeat.

The stale routine bored him. No impromptu movies, no spontaneous kisses. _No stupid smiles that I see plastered on Fabian's face all the time. I miss those, no matter how idiotic I looked._

Mara was fun – she was cute, she was smart, she was funny. But it was so much _work_ to maintain the simplicity that Mick so desperately wished to preserve.

When Mara started telling him a story about how Patricia and Jerome stole some younger students' homework, Mick listened. He listened, responded appropriately, and even added comments here and there. But his mind wandered, footballs flying across the grass, the air screaming in his ears, her smile beaming up at him. When hazel and blue met, outlined in blonde, he snapped the cord between illusion and reality, dawning a smile and focusing on his girlfriend.

"That's pretty awful of them," he said, hoping he hadn't been too distracted. He felt the bugs crawling across his skin, feeding off the dirt in his heart and the guilt in his veins.

"I don't think it was _that_ bad," said Mara, her tone slightly defensive and Mick didn't want to analyze why that was. She leaned out his embrace. "Besides, they returned it in the end."

"Yeah, but they still stole it. And if Amber and Fabian hadn't caught them – "

Mara suddenly bristled. "Oh, so you're defending Amber, are you?"

"Wait, _what_?" said Mick, blinking rapidly. "How did this become about Amber?"

"You always choose her side over mine!"

"Mara!" he said, words half-lost over a mixture of shock and sudden anger. His legs straightened and abruptly he stood. "That is not true _at all_ and you damn well know it! I was definitely on your side during the campaign; I'm on _Fabian's_ side just as much. And don't get me started on _you_ and defending Jerome all the time!" The red seeped through him, defining every word and action. His voice escalated without reason as judgments and assumptions tickled his temper. "What about _him_ – he ditched you during the campaign! He embarrassed Amber in front of the whole school!"

"Again with defending Amber!" Her shrill voice pierced his ears, both of them standing. A sudden chasm had appeared, separating the distance between _me_ and _you_. Mick's head spun, his heart racing miles ahead of logic and reason, jumping distances that even unintelligent Mick could identify as questionable. "Why don't you let me know when you're ready to focus on _me,_ your _girlfriend_, okay?"

She stormed off, olive steam following her as Mick stood still, blood pumping everywhere. His ears sizzled against the calming force of silence; the sudden loneliness slammed against him.

He sunk down onto the couch, his hands masking his face from the world. He only looked up when he felt a form sit down beside him.

"Give her some time to cool off, talk to her, and it'll all be okay. It was just a misunderstanding and I'm sure she'll realize it was just an overreaction. Okay?" Nina's simple, collected instructions simplified the smoky haze of feelings that blocked his mind. He nodded slowly and her arms wrapped around him for a solid moment.

Warmth. Comfort. Friendship.

He could actually smile at her. She walked away with a smile and a "it'll work out in the end," leaving Mick wondering less about how to apologize for nothing to Mara and more about why he didn't spend more time with people who seemed to have it all figured out.

* * *

To Mick, having the ability to advise others seemed to be the ultimate form of wisdom. But to Nina, having the ability to take that advice to heart and apply it to life seemed to be infinitely better.

* * *

Alfie stationed himself far away from everyone at lunch the next day.

The seclusion allowed him to survey his own thoughts as they floated in and out. The girl behind the counter now held his two pink sheets, adorned with the shaky words of a teenaged boy. His divided mind flittered between ideals and tangibles; his dream girl or the girl who was a dream-come-true? His heart wanted certainty; so used to rejection, how could he let himself fall for a girl when the probability was so high that she wasn't interested?

_You know what – I don't need Jerome to get me a date; I'll get one on my own. Screw him – all he's concerned about is that stupid bet with Mick. Yeah, idiot,_ thought Alfie bitterly as he glared across the cafeteria at the group of his friends, _don't make a bet in the middle of the sitting room when someone else is home. Dumbass_.

Usually Alfie restrained himself from insulting his best friend, but the frustration built as a result from separation – more time with Patricia and Fabian and Amber and Nina, and less with Jerome and Mara. Who needed a friend who didn't even _care_ if he wasn't even spending time with him anymore?

Alfie crushed his chip in his palm before stuffing it in his mouth. _I bet he's sabotaging any chance I have with Patricia as we speak. _Indeed, Alfie spotted Jerome heading towards the Rosegram counter as the bell rang and students filed out. An exchange of money and paper, and Jerome walked away smugly, a handful of possible notes. Shaking his head, Alfie decided he needed a plan – he needed a way to get back at Jerome_ and_ figure out whom he wanted once and for all. Hopefully, both plans would coincide and would involve as little work as possible.

It was when Mick snuck back into the cafeteria a minute later, leaving with a sizable amount of Rosegrams in his hands, that the spark ignited.

* * *

"Mr. Rutter, if you would please grace us with the pleasure of your attention."

The sharp voice cut through Fabian's daydreams – Nina twirling on the dance floor in his arms because he finally gathered the courage to ask her – and he blinked several times. Straightening, he brushed away some hair on his forehead, studying the front of the classroom again, searching for clues as to what was just asked.

"Sorry, sir," he said, hoping he'd at least avoided questioning.

"Now that you've decided to join us in mental capacity, I'm sure you would be willing to tell us the difference between RNA and DNA."

_Of course I would. _His sarcastic conscience laughed bitterly with dashed hope. With a deep breath, Fabian quickly wracked his brain, searching for any previous facts that could help him piece together an answer. "Um, DNA has to do with the genes and is located in the nucleus, while RNA is involved with the making of proteins."

Mr. Sweets' eyes narrowed but he nodded. "Quite close," he admitted before continuing his lecture, outlining the necessity for RNA in cell development.

Fabian kept his brain focused on biology, but his thoughts strayed towards the new mystery of the day: who was sending whom a Rosegram? Although school wasn't even over yet, already the tension was building. He knew that dinner would be quite the affair.

Nina refused to tell him to whom she had sent a Rosegram, Patricia seemed to be oddly jumpy, Amber was unusually subdued, and Alfie seem to alternate between bitter and confused while avoiding people. Jerome held his "scheming face," as he had for the past couple of days, and was constantly moving. And Mick and Mara, usually attached to the hip, seemed to be avoiding each other.

_Just another day in Anubis House…_

If Fabian was to be honest, all the drama started to sicken him. He wanted peace and quiet, simple fun and clear relationships. But life was complicated and constantly changing and he couldn't do much about the drama except avoid it at all costs.

The bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, and freeing Fabian to catch up with a sullen Mick. "Hey, Mick mate, what's up?" he asked, noting the slouch and drag of his friends' demeanor.

"Mara and I got in a fight," he said, kicking at a rock on the floor. "She accused me of always defending Amber – which was such a stupid thing too, because I _wasn't_ – and then I accused her of defending Jerome."

"So basically it was just you two being jealous," said Fabian, restraining himself from laughing at the silliness of the argument. "And both of you overreacting?"

Mick sighed as he readjusted his backpack. "Yeah, basically."

"Then the both of you need to calm down, and if your Rosegram doesn't do the trick tomorrow, then just talk to her," said Fabian.

"That's what Nina told me too," said Mick with a small smile.

Heartbeat; flittering panic. "Nina?" asked Fabian as he stopped on the entrance's stairs.

"Yeah," said Mick, turning around to face his roommate. "She saw that I was upset right after the fight and told me to let Mara cool down and then talk to her."

"Oh," said Fabian. _You're an overacting fool, Fabian Rutter. Pull yourself together. _"Right. Nina tends to have some good advice."

"I'm sure," said Mick, a smile teasing his lips. "Has she advised you to ask her to the dance already?"

Fabian stuttered for a moment before quickly pulling himself together. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mick rolled his eyes as they continued walking. "Whatever you say, mate." He turned sideways for a moment before staring at the sidewalk. "If it counts for anything, I think it's probably better this way." Fabian noticed that his voice seemed strained, as if his words split him in two directions.

"What do you mean?" Fabian's heart fluttered. _Does Nina not like me or something?_

"I mean," said Mick, his voice growing a little stronger but still holding hesitance, "that you and Nina are one of those couples that wouldn't really work out if you starting dating. Like you're great friends, but toeing that line without crossing over it is the place you should be at. Without crossing over it."

Shattered glass cut away at the light in his heart, hopeful and steady. Flickering, it died away without warning, remnants of a longing the only remainder left. "Oh," said Fabian, no other words appropriate.

"Sorry, mate," said Mick, his voice genuinely pained. "I know you wanted more – but I just don't know. Maybe I'm wrong," he quickly added, sincerely hopeful. Fabian couldn't decipher between Mick's desire for him to date Nina and his advice against him doing so. _What the hell, mate?_

"Maybe," said Fabian instead. "Maybe."

The two enter the House of Anubis in silence, one's heart dying from lost opportunities and lack of confidence and true disappointment and the other from broken friendships and selfish gains and torn desires.

Mick's words broke Fabian's heart; Fabian's innocence broke Mick's.

* * *

Secrecy always plagued Anubis House, from hidden treasures to teenaged confusions. But as the sun set and the moon rose, the twinkling stars highlighted the indigo sky.

That night, eight teenagers slept, all hearts broken in different ways; split into seven parts, none realized the extent to which love expanded the heart.

Not yet, at least.

* * *

The sun rose in a cloud of pink, purple, and yellow, the bright blue sky reflected against the thin layer of dew that coated the grass. The serene mood of nature jolted her heart, a contrast with her inner ache.

A tug-of-war game between jealousy and longing, the throbbing pain constantly nagged her heart. She wanted the comfort of his arms around her. She wanted his kisses on her temple. She wanted his hands through her hair. She wanted _him _– his presence, his essence, his love.

Who exactly _he_ was shouldn't have been a question, logically, but it was. It was the most prudent question, seemed so trivial in past, but at that moment, as she stared at the rising sun and listened to the chirping birds, Mara needed to know.

_Mick's my boyfriend. I think. Jerome's a jackass who makes fun of people and treats his friends like crap. Although he can be sensitive and I end up defending his actions and I always have so much fun with him, playing chess or watching movies. And Mick's still in love with Amber, I know he is. But he's a real boyfriend; he takes care of me, cares _about_ me._

A wisp of possibility seemed too far away to reach; why stretch when you could grab what was right there? _I'm sure Mick just needed time yesterday like I did. Maybe he'll apologize today, through Rosegram or something. If he doesn't, then I'll just talk to him. Communication is the key to relationships._

The birds stopped chirping and the purple line of the sky blended away, the sun rising higher. Mara smiled easily and slid out of the room, her heart steadied for the moment with a temporary resolution.

A few hours later, and the hallways blinded Mara. Paper hearts, red streamers, and overdrawn cupids covered every inch of the lockers and walls, leaving little room for the small announcement about the Debate Club's meeting next week. But Mara grinned when she saw Patricia, Nina, and Amber waiting for her by a table filled with ornaments of a typical Valentine's Day.

"Have you gotten yours yet?" she asked the other girls when she reached them.

"Not yet, we've decided to get them together. Female solidarity and all," said Nina before looking over at Amber. "_Now_ you may buy them, Amber."

The cheerleader clapped in excitement before asking the counter girl for her Rosegrams. A minute later, Amber held eight roses in her right hand and eight messages in her left, the chocolates stowed away for later. Patricia retrieved four, Nina three, and Mara found herself slightly disappointed in her two.

"Shall we read them then?" asked Mara, nervously eying the envelopes in her hand. _Please let both of them be from Mick._

"Let's go to the restroom, we'll kick everyone there out. Privacy, you know," said Nina, clarifying at their strange looks. "C'mon!"

Mara shrugged at Patricia's eye roll, but all three followed Nina to the nearest girls' restroom. All the stalls empty, they locked the door and spread out all their Rosegrams.

Mara quickly slipped a finger under the first envelope. Her eyes glazed over the message, a grin splitting her face.

_ Dear Mara,_

_I don't really know what to write for this, since you know my writing is generally horrible. But I'm so glad you're my girlfriend. You make me smile whenever you start rambling about some random historical figure or scientist. You make me laugh whenever you crinkle your nose when I do something disgusting. And even if we get in a fight, I know we'll forgive each other in the end because we just work._

_ Love, Mick_

Patricia caught her radiant grin. "From Mick then?" At Mara's nod, she rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Then what about the other one?" she questioned, gesturing to the unopened letter.

Mara carefully placed Mick's message back in the ripped envelope before opening the other one. As her eyes read the message, confusion and curiosity and intrigue fed her quickening heartbeat.

_Dear M,_

_He doesn't know you write the date before you write the class period. He doesn't know you love white chocolate more than milk. He doesn't know you prefer science fiction over romantic comedies. He doesn't know your favorite book is _The Book Thief._ He doesn't really know you. I do._

_ Love._

The unsigned note stared at her, the accusation left unsaid. She stuffed the letter back into its envelope, just offering an "it was unsigned, nothing special," when Patricia asked.

"Well, I've gotten five from random strangers – two of them were bold enough to sign it! – but the rest…" said Amber, although she paused at the sight of the signature on one note. "Wait – _Jerome?_"

Her insides jumped, growling. _First Mick, now Jerome – get your hands off my men, you witch!_ But she stomped on the mauve thoughts, instead fixing her face in surprise. "Jerome, really?"

Nina snatched the letter out of Amber's limp fingers, quickly scanning the note. "'Dear Amber, you're gorgeous and fun and totally know how to run a campaign, no matter what the votes say. I think it's time for us to get to know each other better – will you be my date to the dance? Love, Jerome,'" read Nina. "_Oh my god,_" she breathed, the corners of her lips curling upwards. "Jerome asked you out!"

Patricia stared at the note suspiciously but said nothing. Instead, she reread her Rosegrams, her silence telling Mara more than what words could.

"Patricia?" Mara asked her friend. Patricia looked at her, but sighed when Mara raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Um, one's from this kid named Robbie. I think he's two years younger than us or something, I don't know. Then two of them are anonymous, but the handwriting seems so _familiar_," she said, frustrated that an answer seemed on the tip of memory but continued to elude her. "And then the last one, um, it's from a friend."

"Ooh, a _friend_," said Mara, choosing to tease another in order to ignore her own problems. "Who?"

"Yeah, who?" asked Nina, instantly curious. When Patricia refused to answer, Nina quickly snatched the note, her reflexes outmatching Patricia's. Nina glanced at the signature before her face dropped. "Oh."

"Oh?" asked Amber, looking up from her pile of notes.

"Um," said Nina, handing back the note awkwardly, refusing to meet Patricia's eyes. "It's from Fabian."

"Oh," repeated Mara. Uneasiness found itself quickly settling in, welcomed with hesitant looks and bitten lips.

Amber, oddly, decided to change the topic rather than dissect it further. "I can't figure out who these are from! The handwriting's different, but I feel like I should know who this one's from." She shook the paper in front of her, as if she hoped shaking the print off the paper would inform her of its owner. Patricia frowned at the other note, however, picking it up and setting it beside one of her own.

"These are both from the same person," she said, noting the similar handwriting. Mara leaned over to see better, and could see the similarity in the curl of the "s"s and the sharpness of the "m"s.

"Odd," said Nina, whose voice seemed to be meeker.

"Yeah," said Patricia, "odd."

Nina stared at her three notes without comment until Mara spoke up.

"Is one from Fabian, Nina?" she asked, choosing frankness as the best tactic.

"Um, I don't know," answered Nina, frowning at both papers. "None of them are signed."

"Oh." Mara glanced around. Patricia seemed confused, Amber overwhelmed, Nina sad. Mara's insides kept whirling, never stopping for a moment of clarity or rest. Somber, all four had stopped giggling over prospective romances, reality crashing all of that to a halt.

"Um, shall we get to class then?" said Mara, drawing herself within, refusing to face the storm that stirred in that room just yet.

Nina nodded and the four stood, but all paused. They looked to the floor, studying the patterned titles and the ripped envelopes and the shaken peace.

Chocolate and roses and messages littered the floor of the bathroom. Lines drawn, feelings expressed, hearts exposed, Mara knew that the web of secrets were slowly unraveling before their feet. The connecting strings pulled and tugged, the whispers outside the surrounding walls building and growing as the four women stared at the pile on the floor.

Heart torn in seven, Mara had no idea where the purple road would take her. She only hoped that bruised and cut souls healed in the end, friendships intact. But the world turned, the sun rose, and potential energy turned to kinetic, life tipping over the cliff, falling and falling and falling.

_Let the games begin._


	2. count the flaws

**Title:** One Temporary Escape  
**Summary: **Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.  
**Warning/Spoiler: **Post-"House of Victory" with allusions to following episodes, but no explicit spoilers. The TV-14 guidelines for cursing are followed.  
**Rating**: T/PG-13  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Various. Ensemble fic.

**Author's Note:** I don't own House of Anubis or any recognizable objects or people mentioned. I also don't own any lines you may recognize.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favorite-d. It means so much to me, and I _especially_ appreciate all the reviews. Feedback is what encourages me when inspiration fails.

**EDIT 1/26: **See previous note about my apologies about the quality of this chapter. Also, for those keeping score, there is no Eddie, Joy is still missing, season 2 is not a thing, etc.

* * *

**One Temporary Escape**

2: _count the flaws_

When Fabian saw the girls return, he did not expect them to be so far apart. Their shoulders touched as they each entered the doorway, but their eyes focused on the floor. The web of connection fell away as each sat – Nina to his right, Patricia to his left, Amber behind him, Mara in front. Life presented the crossroads between discord and unity, and neither seemed to be taken, only a hesitant wind offering a guiding torch.

Fabian leaned over towards Nina, his eyes focusing on Mara's raven locks, curling against the unshed tears that haunted the heavy air surrounding him. "What happened?" he whispered quickly, turning to her. "Everyone's so – _sad_."

Nina glanced at him once before facing forward. Her lips barely moved when she answered, but her eyes remained plastered on Mrs. Andrews' desk, brown refusing to meet brown. "Don't worry about it. Girl stuff," she said coolly, only edges of emotion seeping within her otherwise even tone.

Fabian frowned. "Then why aren't you talking to _me?_" he asked, genuinely confused. _Don't do this to me now, Nina. Don't get complicated on me._

Her eyes met his, flashing scarlet, a bitter smile raising her lips. "Why don't you ask your friend Patricia?"

Memories flew past him, a slideshow of moments, but all failed to clarify her statement. "Patricia? What?" But Nina refused to speak to him further, her attention on Mrs. Andrew.

The clock chipped away seconds, each plummeting to the abyss of the past. Mrs. Andrew's voice drifted to Fabian's ears, but he could not comprehend the words, his mental capacity for paying attention otherwise occupied.

Thankfully, his troubled mind passed enough time that it only felt like five minutes when the bell rang an hour later.

Nina slipped out of the classroom without Fabian noticing, so he opted to give her space while he tried to piece together what had happened that morning. He caught up with Patricia at her locker, the hallways bustling with students passing from class to class, rapid chatter buzzing against the fading walls.

"Patricia!"

Patricia turned around at his voice, but stiffened when she registered who was standing before her. "Fabian," she said, her voice as cool as Nina's was previously.

"Um, Nina was acting all weird earlier and she said to ask you - ?" he said hesitantly, wondering what he had _possibly _done that caused the female species to cut off from him.

Patricia sighed before slamming the locker door shut. "Why did you send _me_ – your _friend_ – a Rosegram, and not send one to _Nina_, who you've obviously fancied for _ages_ now?"

Fabian's throat shriveled, drying faster than an oasis in a desert. "Wha – _what_? I sent all of you Rosegrams – and I even sent Nina an anonymous one too!" His voice broke several times, cracking against the puzzle that began fitting together in his mind.

Patricia smiled sadly. "Well, I'm the only one who got a _signed_ Rosegram, not Amber or Mara or even Nina. Because if you didn't sign it, then why would she assume you sent it?" Fabian understood the logic in her words, the room for error in his so-called _plan_.

But that didn't mean it had to make _sense_. "Okay, maybe sending Nina an anonymous Rosegram and expecting her to just know it was me was stupid," he conceded, leaning against the cool lockers. "But that doesn't explain why the other three didn't get the Rosegrams I sent them."

"Did you personally give the sheets to Tara?"

"Who?"

"Tara – the girl behind the counter, the one handling the Rosegrams for Mara?" Patricia shook her head in exasperation. "Why does _no one_ know her name?"

Fabian shrugged. "Who knows – who _cares_. And no, I didn't give them personally – I asked – " The name fell in his lap, screaming and flashing, and suddenly he felt hot.

Red. All he could see was red and green, a Christmas nightmare filled with family arguments and corny presents. Patricia called out to him, but her voice faded away as he stormed off, heading towards one person.

"MICK!" His voice was loud, but he didn't shout, his voice steady and firm. His roommate spun around but frowned deeply when he spotted Fabian, stepping out of the circle of rugby teammates around him.

"Hey mate, what happened?" asked Mick, frowning and with furrowed eyebrows.

_What happened, my arse. _"Why didn't Nina, Amber, or Mara get my Rosegrams from them – the ones I signed as a friend, the ones I gave because you told me it was a good idea because Valentine's Day 'is not just for couples,'" he quoted darkly. His fingers sliced the air before panic settled in Mick's face. Fabian hoped his narrowed eyes and the shadows clenched in his fists were keeping Mick still.

"Oh – um," said Mick, biting his lip and his eyes missing Fabian's.

Fabian took a step closer, his voice lowering to a hiss. "Mick, did you _forget_ to turn those in, but conveniently remember Patricia's and my anonymous one?"

Mick hesitated again, his hand running through his hair, the disarray of blonde locks illustrating the fraying friendship facing them. "Fabian, mate, it's not a big deal – it was just a joke – ha ha," he said, but the confidence needed in his voice had fallen victim to guilt and fear. He stood against the wall, his body steady but his hands shaking.

Fabian stepped back, studying the unrecognizable student before him. Violet lines crossed the boundary between them, separating the truth from the lies. "Mick – why are you turning into Jerome?"

Heartbeat. Narrowed eyes and, "probably because I made a bet with him." Fabian, caught off guard, paused rather than leaving.

"A bet?" Blurred noises, puppet strings falling away. "A bet about _what_?"

"You and Nina," Mick sighed, weakly leaning against the wall, strength and willpower leaving his limbs. "Alfie and Patricia. Amber and – " his voice stuttered, "someone."

Fabian stood there, staring at Mick. "I can't believe you."

"Neither can I."

Silence reigned, pregnant with accusations and manipulations. Fabian shook his head sharply. "So basically, because of your meddling, Nina's mad at me for something I had no control over?"

Mick hit his head against the wall. "Basically. If it matters at all – I still turned in that anonymous one."

"Whatever," said Fabian, but his heartbeat steadied for a moment.

"Let me talk to Nina," said Mick finally when Fabian refused to speak further. "Let me explain this to her."

The sudden red extinguished the glimmer of light that seeped into his heart. "No, I'll do it," said Fabian harshly. "You'll probably screw it up anyway."

He stalked away, not bothering to watch the impact of his words on Mick's neglected and insecure soul. _Screw him_. Overreaction trumped reason; red clouded his vision, blurring the lines between flaw and deposition. He focused on stepping forward, on reaching his destination. He turned the corner and his heart dropped to the floor, rolling in a mess of blame and anger.

Nina sat on a desk, quietly studying her shoes, her backpack resting beside her. Fabian walked over softly, his feet caressing the chilling floor.

"Hey," he said, causing her to look up.

She stared at him for a full minute before saying anything at all. "What do you want?"

Harsh words cut through the brave front he tried to build. "I want to explain – I didn't send Patricia that Rosegram."

"Then who did?" she asked, skeptical and resigned.

"Well, I mean," said Fabian, "I _did _send it – but I sent you, Mara, and Amber Rosegrams too."

Nina laughed bitterly. "Right, that's why I have a note with your signature on it." She rolled her eyes as they turned to the floor again. "Right."

"See that's the thing, Mick – "

"Mick isn't the one sending Patricia Rosegrams, Fabian," she interrupted without care, without emotion. Glossy and shiny, her voice remained cool and firm.

"But Nina – " he began, trying to explain as he watched them grow further apart, chances slowly flying out of reach. All the fear of complications seemed pointless at that moment, mere trivialities rather than real concerns

"Just tell me the truth, Fabian," she said, her voice shaky, the first strands of emotion oozing through her words. "Who do you like – me or Patricia?"

Heartbeat.. "Nina, I like – "

"You will not _believe_ what just happened!" Alfie slid through the doorway, a wide grin splitting his face. At the sight of intense shared looks, the smile fell. "Oh – did I interrupt something?"

_YES, YOU IDIOT. _But before Fabian could say anything, Nina answered.

"No, it's fine," she said, glancing over to Fabian once before understanding settled in her eyes. _No, no! I wasn't hesitating because I like Patricia, I was hesitating because I like _you! Nina smiled at Alfie before walking out of the room, the door that would have sealed off room from hallway mentally slamming against his skull. _No, no, nononono._

But she was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

If Nina had turned around, maybe she would have seen Fabian run his fingers through his hair in frustration. Maybe she would have caught his desperation.

Maybe she would have seen the small smile on Alfie's face, grim satisfaction coloring the mask hiding his eyes.

* * *

Amber never seemed to be able to pay attention in class. There was something more important than trigonometry, or the industrial revolution, or _fungi._

Today it was the eight messages that sat so innocently in her bag. The unsigned messages didn't concern as much as _Jerome's_. The name plagued her, a constant frustration in the back of her mind. _That_ signature weighed at least fifty kilograms.

Only habit led her out the doorway when the bell rang, a buzzing in her otherwise occupied mind. Even as she traveled the hallways, the mystery dug into her side, nagging her. She wanted revelations and answers; she wanted to know what was going on.

So Amber wasn't quite sure if she was relieved to see Jerome standing by her locker or not.

"Hello," he said, beaming, his sunny smile a reflection of his bright hair. "So what do you think?"

Amber raised an eyebrow. "About you standing at my locker looking entirely too pleased with yourself? I think you give yourself way too much credit and that even Kanye West would be annoyed."

"What – Amber," said Jerome, his smile falling quickly, "I'm sorry if it seems I'm being too – forward? But I like you," he said, his eyes flickering to floor before resting upon hers.

"Do you really?" she said, her eyes still. _He likes Mara, you know this, Millington. So why is he asking you out?_ "What's my favorite color?"

"What?"

"If you really liked me," said Amber, "you'd know what my favorite color is."

"Uh," said Jerome, his eyes darting around as if searching for clues, "pink?"

"No." Amber shook her head, pushing him out of the way and opening her locker. "It's yellow."

"Yellow? Really?" he said, eyebrows raised with a small surprised frown. "Why?"

"It's sunny and happy, but it can mean cowardice and sickness too," she said as she pushed aside a binder and picked up a book. "It reminds me of me. And my hair," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh."

"Yes." Amber faced him fully now, shutting her locker quickly. "So because you don't _actually_ like me, why are you asking me out?"

"Amber – "

"Oh, I get it!" The brilliant light bulb ignites in her mind and the pieces fall in place. "You're trying to make Mara jealous, aren't you?"

"_No_, I'm not – " he tried to deny it, but Amber noted his nervousness, his frantic desperation. The blue lockers reflected purple against her shoulder and Amber's face brightens.

"Yes, you are," she said firmly. "And because I'm feeling awfully generous, I will help you."

Jerome stared at her, speechless. "Um – okay," he said. "Thanks?"

Amber nodded patiently. "But first, in order for us to seem like a _real_ couple, you need to ask me out properly."

"And what is exactly is the proper way to ask you out, Amber?" asked Jerome, his voice half-impatient, half-amused.

"On your knees."

Heartbeat. "What?"

Amber bristled and crossed one arm around her chest, the other still carrying books. "You have to get down on one knee and profess your love for me, and ask me to the dance."

"I'm pretty sure you only do that for marriage proposals, Amber."

"Do you want me to go out with you or not?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. Jerome sighed in defeat, stared at the ceiling for a moment, but then kneeled.

"Amber Millington, will you do me the pleasure of being my date to dance on Monday?" he asked, his voice dry with an edge of sarcasm.

"Not if you're going to ask me like that, no," she said bluntly. Her toes itched to tap against the floor, her patience wearing thin. _Although embarrassing Jerome in front of people is oddly satisfying._ "Say it like you _mean it,_"she whispered to him, all fake innocence and giddy tease.

"Amber Millington," he repeated dramatically, his voice carrying throughout the hallway, a smile tugging at his lips. "Will you do me the _enormous_ pleasure of allowing me to escort you to the dance on Monday?" He took her hand in his and, with flourish, placed a small peck on the knuckles.

Amber giggled, more amused than impressed. "If you're going to be so _dramatic_ about it, I _guess_," she said, laying the sarcasm thick.

Jerome rolled his eyes at her, but as he stood he punched the air in an exaggerated motion of victory. He glanced around once before scooping her off her feet and suffocating her in an embrace. Amber forced herself to pretend to enjoy it as _sensual_ and _romantic_, while her heart screamed _bigbrotherbearhugoff_.

Their show attracted a crowd, but at Amber's wave, they dissipated, leaving the new couple to awkwardly part. "Um, see you at home then?"

"Uh, yeah," said Jerome, burying his hand into his pocket and shrugging his shoulders as his grin faded to a small smile. "Or do you want me to walk you there?"

"Why not," said Amber. "I might as well take advantage."

Jerome laughed and when Amber merely shrugged, he winked at her. Amber knew if she had not spent five years with the boy, handled daily pranks and weekly schemes, watched his failed attempts at flirting and displaying charm, her heart might have fluttered and she might have been twirling locks of hair. But instead, she shook her head, amused, and headed in the opposite direction.

And ran straight into Nina.

"Nina!" she said excitedly, running up to the other. "I have _news_."

"Yeah?" said Nina, her voice unusually somber, her eyes downcast.

"What's wrong?" said Amber instead, her cheeks falling rapidly, concern replacing amusement, worry replacing happiness.

"Nothing. Just – Fabian and I got into a fight and I just really want some ice cream," she said, and Amber felt the tears dripping in her voice, crystals cascading to the floor.

Amber wrapped her arms around her friend tightly, and at first Nina did little to respond. But when Amber felt shaking, she gripped tighter, and Nina returned her hug. The two stood silently, locked in an embrace, and Amber noted that Jerome had the good sense to keep silent as Nina cried into her blouse.

* * *

A bubble surrounded her, suffocating, drowning her in silent seclusion. Every step was an act of routine, every smile a force of habit; she longed for affection again. But most of all, she wanted to heal the split in her heart, to fit the pieces together – _the whole is greater than the sum of its parts - _to form the final, webbed puzzle, a gleaming indigo against a black world.

Her subconsciousness seemed to be sending her a message since her feet took her a locker that she had not stood or laughed by in ages. _Ever since I turned into a boyfriend-stealer. _

The locker's owner hastily loaded and unloaded her books, concern etched in her jaw line and worry glittering in her eyes.

"Amber?" said Mara softly, a foreign note of _imissyou_ and _imsosorry_ and _pleastalktome_ implied in each phoneme.

The blonde spun around slowly, clearly recognizing the once-loved voice. "Mara," she said, neither distaste nor pleasure coloring her tone.

"Hi – um," said Mara, thoughts clouding her diction, "I just, uh, wanted to say hi."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Hi?"

Mara smiled awkwardly, glancing at her shoes. "Hi." Heartbeat. "I'm sorry, this was a bad idea – I should go – " she said, backing away, her stomach turning in disappointment and failure.

Just as Mara turned around, she heard the, "wait," but she tried to restrain her heart from leaping.

Amber stared at her, eyes unblinkingly studying her. "Jerome asked me out."

Heartbeat. Water rose, ripples slamming against her feet, rising higher and higher.

"And I said yes."

The air strangled her, a sea of blood and tears restricting her limbs as she tried to prevent herself from drowning. "Oh."

Amber just stared, commenting no further, watching as Mara struggled against the rising tide of events, seemingly infinite and overpowering. Mara choked down a response, her head moving in a cross between nod and shake, her eyes frantically darting from corner to corner.

When Amber continued to just _look_, Mara spun around and walked away. She swam away from the black hole, leaving it unresolved. Her feet carried her all the way to the sandy beach, the refuge from the storm. The distraction caught her from falling, but everything was wrong – the beach belonged to the soft ripples; she needed the sun.

But the clouds blocked the sun at that moment, so she stayed on the beach.

Mick immediately brightened when he spotted her, his backpack slung across a shoulder. "Mara!" he said, grinning widely. "I've been looking for you all day."

Mara smiled, stepping back from summer to the winter. "Hi Mick," she greeted softly, steadying her heartbeat and shaking limbs. "How are you?"

"Miserable," he said without hesitation. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips at his genuine response. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." She shouldn't have been surprised at the sincerity of her words. "I got your Rosegram," she added, grinning at him. "It was very cute."

Mick sheepishly stared at the floor, rubbing his red neck. "Thanks," he said softly. A pause rested between them as thoughts absorbed into her head. (_Mick is wonderful, he's great; but he's wrong for me. We don't work. We bring out the worst in each other. This is wrong. But he's comfort; he's a temporary safety-net. He's reliable, he's here, right now._)

The most prudent thought – _he's here right now, even if I don't love him as I should_ – repeated in her head again, soon joined by _and Amber can't take him away from me – she's already taken what I want._

When Mick gulped nervously, her heart calmed her brain, and the realization settled in. _I love Mick. But I think I might be in love Jerome_.

The thought flickered behind her eyes when Mick spoke. "Do you – do you think – I'm sorry," he said, the final words leaving his lips with an edge of bitterness that Mara ignored. "I'm sorry that I made you think I put Amber before our relationship."

_ Because you do. But I put Jerome before our relationship_. "It's okay; I overreacted. I know you care about me," said Mara simply, taking a step towards him, letting her thoughts crinkle in the back of her mind, far away from the breath leaving her lips. _You do care about me. A lot. Just not the way you care about Amber._

"Can we – can we start again?" he asked hesitantly, the awkward wording reflecting more sincerity than the purple bracelet sitting on her wrist. She twirled the jewelry piece around once, twice, three times before nodding.

"Yeah – I'd like that." She spoke truly; she wanted Mick again. She would settle for second best if it meant that the first people in her life – the ones who got away – would settle for happiness.

Heartbeat.

Wrapping his arms securely around her, Mick guides her towards his heart. Her arms rested at her side for three heartbeats before they snaked around his torso. Warmth and resignation engulfed her, staying with her even as they separate, smiles – _not quite full, either of them, eyes distracted and hearts somewhere else_ – on their faces. His arm remained on her shoulders, more possessive than comforting, but she cared little for mood and tone, only the story.

As she walked through the hallway with Mick's arms around her, Mara spotted _his_ eyes in the corner. Her heart matched the tempo of her fingers as she waved goodbye, his sad eyes gutting her more than the tiny hole in her heart.

* * *

The pasta was covered in basil sauce, mushrooms and bell peppers; carrots lay scattered across the plate. Her fork twirled between a _penne_ and a _rotini_, outlining words and phrases. Gray and green and purple colored her thoughts.

Her eyes shot up at the sound of metal on glass. Her gaze fell upon Amber, smiling proudly, a fork in one hand and her water glass in the other. Beside her, Jerome's hands barely concealed his reddening face; his sweater vest seemed mauve in the light.

"If I could please have everyone's attention," said Amber cheerfully, her voice carrying easily in the small dining room. "I have an announcement!"

Patricia noticed Mara squirm slightly away from Mick, but only enough for his wrist to rest on the back of her chair rather than hanging off. Patricia frowned slightly; her eyes caught Alfie's and her lips curled further downwards at his shrug.

"So – everyone," said Amber, flipping between side and side, gauging reactions and faces. Patricia noted Amber's look of pink and yellow when her eyes fell on Mick for a moment. "Jerome and I are officially dating."

Patricia ignored the squeak in the last syllable, focusing her eyes on the new boyfriend. His hands uncovered his face, red fading to pink, but a half-smile on his lips. Amber sat down in the silence that followed her announcement, lifting fork to mouth. She giggled when Jerome whispered something in her ear.

_I'm going to be sick._

Patricia turned her gaze back on her plate, but her stomach churned uncomfortably. Yellow and dark gray clashed; swirls of mismatched colors twirled in her vision. Running her hand through her hair, she studied the lock of purple. Her attention flickered back towards the couples, contrasting the clash of yellow and silver to the discord between violet and timberwolf. The hearts lacked artistic presence, staining lives with haphazardly chosen blobs. Patricia pushed away her dinner and stood, attracting looks to her indigo footsteps. She left the room without words, time killing her appetite and interest.

She headed straight for her room, a sanctuary where black and white stuck together and red and green remained united. To dull the throbbing pain aching against her skull, her head hit the pillow, a cushion to squeeze out the battling thoughts. Black was all she saw when she closed her eyes; yet streaks of color danced behind her eyelids, chronicling a story she wasn't certain she understood.

She must have drifted off because when Mara's footsteps echoed in her ears, the digital clock reflected _8:17_. Groaning, Patricia flattened her hair and nodded to her musically absorbed roommate as she left the room. Her cramped legs stretched with each step, leading her down the stairs towards the kitchen. Her stomach aching in a half-hunger pang, Patricia grabbed a stray lying on the dining table. While she licked at the frosting, the empty room echoed silence, but the life in the room never faded. A small smile sat on her face as she headed towards the boys' rooms, her fingers caressing the lived-in walls.

The door to Alfie and Jerome's room was ajar; when Patricia stuck her head in the gap between edge and frame, she spotted an empty bed and an occupied one.

"Hey," she said, attracting Jerome's attention. He looked startled but nodded at her presence.

"Hello there, Trixie," he said, his focus returning to the magazine in his hand.

"What are you up to?" she asked with slight suspicion.

Jerome rolled his eyes as he chucked his reading away and sat up on his bed. "Waiting for Amber," he said. "You know where she is?"

Patricia shook her head. "No, but I'm sure she's on her way." Her lips fell into a frown at the reminder of the clashing and the disharmony. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't know, can you?"

"_May_ ask you a question," said Patricia with a roll of her eyes.

"Go for it," said Jerome, shrugging.

She stepped closer, lightly closing the door behind her. "Why are you going out with Amber if you don't like her?" Her voice was slow and steady as each step forward narrowed the distance between them.

"Why are you assuming I don't?" His challenge bounced back against the tension, harmless.

"Why aren't you denying it?"

Heartbeat.

Patricia studied the silence for a moment before taking a seat on Alfie's bed, grinning smugly at the nervous Jerome. "Why are you going out with Amber if you don't like her?" she repeated, resisting the temptation to sharpen her tone. She might have missed the footsteps and the squeak of the door if she hadn't been hoping for it.

"I like Amber," said Jerome flatly, remaining stubborn.

The frustration at his continued denial escaped her, and without a second thought, she crashed her lips to his. It was a brief kiss; no fireworks, no sparks, just pride and self-satisfaction.

When Patricia pulled back, fingers webbed as she released her grip on is shirt, her smug smile contrasted with Jerome's confused frown. But the voice she wished to hear reached her ears, widening smile to grin.

"Oh, I guess I'll leave you to it then," said Amber, her voice bright and cheerful.

"Amber!" hissed Jerome, his wide eyes flashing.

"Oh!" said Amber, realization hitting her and quickly twisting her face to reflect jealously and anger. "Oh my _god_ what is going _on_?"

But Patricia just laughed, standing, having caught the hesitation. "You two are horrible actors."

Jerome and Amber glanced at each other before Jerome broke. "Okay _fine_," he said, keeping his voice low but his desperation rolling off his tone in heaps. "Promise you won't say anything?"

Patricia tilted her head in contemplation. "Who exactly are you trying to make jealous?"

"Mara," said Amber without thought, ignoring Jerome's half-hearted attempt to keep the secret.

"Mara," repeated Patricia, an eyebrow raised and surprise on her face. "Interesting."

Jerome sighed. "Promise me? That you won't say anything?"

Patricia stared at the "couple" for a moment, studying silver and yellow and their mismatched pairing. "Yeah," she finally agreed, nodding. "I won't say anything."

"Thank you," said Jerome, smiling gratefully.

"No problem," said Patricia. She backed towards the door, shaking her head. "You two – uh – have fun?"

"Of course!" said Amber happily, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eye.

Patricia shook her head, smiling in relief, as she closed the door behind her. _Purposeful clashing is better than accidental, I guess._ _I hope so, at least._

She felt better, faith in _perfect couples_ and _made-for-each-other_ restored, if only temporarily. Lips turned upwards, Patricia returned to her room, Mara seated neatly on her bed, face buried in _Crime and Punishment._ Patricia sunk down on her mattress, the involuntarily sigh that left her lips attracting Mara's attention.

"Something wrong?" she asked curiously.

Patricia looked at her roommate in response. Just – _looked_. The two hadn't spoken in ages, in felt like, between puzzle pieces and kidnappings and Mick and elections. The bonds they had forged when Joy had disappeared were broken with lack of use and Patricia could feel the empty hole left in its place.

A moment passed before Patricia answered the question, a small smile again on her face. "No, nothing's the matter," she said quietly. Mara looked at her carefully but said nothing until Patricia voiced her thoughts. "We haven't really spoken in a while."

"Yeah," said Mara, flipping her book over on its spine and smiling hesitantly. "How's life been, Patricia?"

"Lively," said Patricia, laughing. "This whole Rosegram business has certainly got everyone in a rut. It's like the circus up in here."

The smile Mara had worn before dropped quickly. "Yeah. It's been quite – dramatic."

"What's wrong?" asked Patricia, frowning.

Mara sighed and shook her head. "Nothing. Just – " she cut off, biting her lip. "Boys."

"Boys?" Patricia questioned further, not willing to let go of a conversation recently made so rare.

"Boys," repeated Mara. She sighed loudly. "Patricia – have you ever liked two boys at once?"

_Interesting. _"Kind of, yeah."

"Well," said Mara, nervously running her hands through her hair. "I think – no, I _know_ I like someone."

"Someone other than Mick?" Her stomach churned, a jigsaw forming in her mind, each piece not quite fitting just yet. At Mara's nod, Patricia asked, "who?"

There was a moment of pause as Mara contemplated her answer. Patricia just studied her roommate, her once-best friend and confidant. Secrets normally easily spilled stuck in Mara's throat, no longer easily released in trust. But Mara closed her eyes for a moment and then spoke.

"Jerome," she said, her voice barely carrying over the air conditioning. "I like Jerome – I like him more than Mick, but Mick's _there_ and he's so sweet and Jerome's with Amber now – it doesn't matter," she said with a hurried voice, a ramble of reason and rationalization. "It doesn't matter, forget it."

Her tongue wanted to run; Patricia wanted to spill all the amethyst secrets she knew, to comfort and set things straight, to finish the puzzle correctly. But her throat clogged up, her lips speaking the words they ought to, not what they wanted to.

"Oh," said Patricia. "_Oh_."

The monosyllable could not encompass all the thoughts that flew through Patricia's mind. She wanted to scream _he loves you! He's trying to make you jealous! Mick and you don't work!_ But Patricia's role was to stir up trouble, not settle it. She wasn't the goody-two shoes, the nerd, or the beauty; she was the bitch of the house. She didn't do the truth, even if green guilt gnawed at her gut.

Patricia kept her secrets.

Mara's sniffles stirred Patricia's insides, growing more uncomfortable with each passing suppressed tear. The awkwardness hovered over the pair, a silent tension without cure. Unable to bare the amalgam of shame and discomfort and _drama_, Patricia just left, Mara's broken voice echoing in her head; there was nothing she could do now.

Her feet carried her to the staircase, but sounds seeped through a door. The familiar voices attracted her unconsciously to the conversation, an eavesdropper without cause. Patricia snuck around the frame of her former room, forcing herself to listen to the words she wished she wasn't hearing.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Her voice cut through Patricia, resurfacing the wound supposedly healed long-ago.

The other sighed. "I mean – I don't think I like Amber as much as I used to. I mean," he corrected himself, the hope flickering in her chest, "she's amazing, really, but I don't know."

"Is there – um, someone else?"

His voice turned softer, more hesitant. "Maybe," said Alfie before sighing, and Patricia could imagine his black eyes focusing on the ceiling as he collected his thoughts. "I don't think she likes me, in any case."

"You don't know that."

"I do, though," he said, confidence edging into his voice, a stubborn realization. "She doesn't like me."

"_Who_, Alfie?"

Heartbeat. The rapid pace of her pulse scared her; the yellow light that glimmered in her heart scared her; the aching itch in her fingers to run in there _scared_ her.

"Patricia," he said quietly. Her heart exploded; tiny shards of hope and fear gathered together again, hesitant to face the unknown. "But she doesn't like me."

_Let me the judge of that, idiot._

But Nina responded, not Patricia, because she was the one giving the advice; she was the one Alfie had gone to. "If you're positive she doesn't like you – then, maybe you should find someone better. Someone who appreciates you, who likes you for you."

The clichéd, _correct_ advice rolled off Patricia, burning her skin. _How dare that bitch tell him to move _on_ when he hasn't even tried? Worst advice _ever_. _A horrible seed slipped into her thoughts, a forbidden and dangerous assumption she couldn't control. _Nina likes Fabian… so why is she giving Alfie such bad advice? _The wound in her back, the one never fully healed and never full opened, bled out that night, a throbbing reminder of mistrust and dishonesty. _I'm assuming things._

But the rational thought escaped her; she only saw red.

"I know I should," said Alfie, his voice frustrated. "Maybe you're right – "

Patricia's heart threatened to crack; she turned and fled, leaving behind logic and taking only emotion with her. She headed straight for revenge; only fire filled her vision. Her knuckles knocked shrilly against the door.

Fabian opened it, rubbing his eyelids. "What – Patricia, what's up?"

Throbbing red. Flashing green. _What am I doing?_ A deep breath escaped her, canceling the sudden impulses. "Can we talk?" Fabian nodded, stepping back to allow her entrance. Patricia glanced at Mick's empty bed and the ripped shreds of paper on the floor. She turned to him as he sat back down on his sheets. "You're writing again."

"Yeah," he said, his voice flat. "Not doing a great job of it, either." The sour tone in his voice was not lost to Patricia, who frowned.

"Nina?" Her question was more of a statement. Fabian nodded in silence, staring at the blank notebook paper in front of him. Patricia forced out words to break the silence. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," said Fabian automatically. He lifted his eyes to hers and forced a smile. "What did you want to talk about?"

_Alfie. Nina. Red. _"Actually – nothing. Don't worry about it." Emotion drained the energy from her; despite her earlier nap, she was purely exhausted. Colors sunk into her insides, leading to a crash so heavy that water seeped into the corners of her eyes.

Fabian shrugged. "If you need anything – "

"Yeah." Patricia turned around and started towards the door. Her hand halfway to the knob, she paused. "Fabian?"

"Yeah?" he said with a steady and composed face.

Heartbeat. She looked at the remaining member of the former trio, the Hermione to her Ron; yet, they were never RonandHermione and they never would be. But Patricia needed that moment, that cathartic release from the envy and anger that threatened to overtake her.

So for the second time in thirty minutes, in three steps, she crossed room, pressed her lips quickly to his, and withdrew. Three seconds later, she was back at the door, Fabian's eyes wide.

"What was that for?"

Patricia let herself smile. "Don't worry about it – just something I needed to do." When Fabian opened his mouth to respond, Patricia cut him off sharply. "Don't read too much into it – you like Nina, Nina likes you."

Fabian said nothing as she spun away and exited the room without further comment, no tingling sensation on her lips or butterflies in her stomach; only relief ran through her veins.

When Patricia crashed on top of her bed, her room was empty. Alone and silent, only her vibrating phone connected her to reality.

"Hello?" she snapped, irritated at her chance of sleep evading her.

"Hi – hello, Patricia?" The other voice – a male's – squeaked in fright and nervousness, unrecognizable.

"Speaking – who is this?" Patricia stared upwards, absently playing with a lock of hair.

"Um – this is Robbie – Mick might have told you about me?" Patricia started to speak, but the rambling boy continued. "I really like you – I think you're pretty and awesome and I was wondering – would you, uh, like to have supper with me tomorrow night?"

Patricia blinked at the blank ceiling. "Who are you again?"

"Robbie," he repeated, his voice rising higher. "I'm in your math class."

_Because I totally pay attention to lower classmen nerds._ But she paused, breathing deeply. A moment later and – "Sure."

"Sure?"

"Sure, I'll go on a date with you tomorrow." The decision sat with her uneasily, a combination of desperation and frustration. This one was driven by the loneliness: someone liked her and she was going to take advantage of it.

"Oh – okay!" His voice squirmed in high-pitched tones, and Patricia tried to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow then!"

"Right. Bye?" she said, half of her wanting to pelt the phone across the room and the other half feeling warmth spread through her.

"Bye!" His abrupt response terminated the line, and Patricia lay on her bed, staring at the white ceiling.

Her arm plopped down beside her, phone still encased around her fingers. But her eyes would not leave the rough bumps that covered the ceiling, an illogical pattern of texture. The white blinded her; unanswerable questions plagued her mind as unfamiliar emotions rose in her chest.

Everything was changing; Patricia hated it.

* * *

The crowd around him continued on, ignorant of the chords guiding their actions. Jerome strutted down the hallways, the puppeteer, in control. The dominoes fell, one by one, equally spaced and uniformly placed. Everything lined up; it was all going according to plan.

_Obviously, I am amazing._

Backpack slung over his shoulder, Jerome made his way to his next class, ignoring the empty space beside him. His eyes remained peeled, observing the changing dynamics of his classmates – hands held, stolen kisses, jealous looks, unshed tears. Romance was in the air; perfect scenarios rolled through their minds.

And it was something out of a novel when Jerome paused before an open classroom, the sole occupants speaking loud enough to attract his attention.

"It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" The familiar voices sparked a grin. The uneasiness in the latter's tone caused Jerome even more glee.

"It doesn't matter – Fabian doesn't like me, end of story."

"But he _does_ like you!"

"No, he doesn't," said Nina firmly, shaking her head as her voice grew louder as she moved towards the doorway. "He told me."

Mick paused. "He _told_ you?"

"Yes."

Heartbeat. "He didn't mean it," said Mick softly, and Jerome's eyebrows furrowed. _Why is he helping Fabian get Nina? He's supposed to break them up... _

Nina laughed bitterly, acid dripping to the floor. "I'm pretty sure he did, Mick. End of story." Jerome quickly shrunk against the wall, his stare following Nina as she marched off. Her sad eyes remained glued to the floor as she pushed through ignorant students.

"Clarke." Mick exited a moment later, but he saw the eavesdropper. With distaste, he frowned. "What do you want?"

Jerome narrowed his eyes. "Why are you suddenly trying to get Nina and Fabian together?"

"Why are you complaining?" said Mick in frustration, a sense of desperation dripping off his voice. "It's helping you, isn't it?"

"Exactly," said Jerome suspiciously. "You hate me – why are you helping me?"

Heartbeat. "I don't hate you, Clarke."

Warmth swept into his chest, but Jerome pushed down the struggling light. An acrid thought left his lips instead, a habitual response to the feelings that resisted his barriers. "Even though I'm dating Amber?"

Mick shook his head and walked away. The silence that followed strangled Jerome, the bothering claw in his chest rising higher and higher; it closed in on his throat, squeezing and taunting.

_ I am not nice. That's why I'll win and get back at Mick. That's why I'll always win._

The creature withdrew, sinking back into the abyss, but amity lingered in his heart. It teased him, whispering _this is what you could have_ against his skin. But Jerome straightened his uniform and glided away, throwing away golden possibilities and silver opportunities. The mix of red and blue faded with his footsteps; whenever the light gleamed, he suppressed it.

A boy a year younger pushed Jerome aside, and the light bulb ignited. _I am not nice_.

Grabbing the running boy, Jerome pulled him to the edge of the lockers and grinned. The boy cowered, Jerome's smug grin reflected in his frightened eyes. But Jerome just whispered into the boy's ear. When he stepped back, he watched the boy's face turn from fear to shock to confusion.

"So?"

Jerome's eyes flashed red. "Tell everyone – tell your tiny little friends, tell the teachers. Tell _everyone_." The boy gulped but nodded, spending no time before running away.

Guilt hampered the full development of Jerome's satisfaction.

* * *

The boy would skid away, whispering to his best friend that _Jerome freaking Clarke_ spoke to him. He would relay the other news with less glee but with all the reverence in the world. His friend would shrug when asked if he knew who Nina Martin was – but _of course_ he knew Mick Campbell.

The friend told Marissa Goldberg in his next class and the entire school knew an hour later that Nina Martin and Mick Campbell were dating.

* * *

His chicken tasted like rubber; his beans slide down his throat like slime; water only dried his tongue, not quenched it. Food and drink seemed unappetizing as he watched them all whisper. His stomach churned as he watched Fabian prod at his dinner in sadness. His heart clenched as he tried not to ignore Amber's feeble attempts at flirting.

Everything was falling apart and it was entirely his fault.

Jerome poked a pea with his fork before letting the metal clatter against the ceramic plate. He pushed his chair away and left the table, handing his still-full plate to Trudy without comment. Silence followed his attempted exit, until Mick entered in a huff.

"CLARKE!" His shout startled Mara, who jumped out of her seat and turned to the two with a deep frown. "Why does Gregory Fillmore think I'm dating Nina?"

Heartbeat. A spoon fell to the table again, and Jerome believed it was Nina's. _Or maybe Fabian's. _"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said smoothly, restraining the turmoil of emotions in his stomach. "Everyone knows you're dating Mara," he added, hoping he had succeeded in keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

Mick stepped towards him, his eyes flashing scarlet. "Don't you dare mess with me, Jerome." His eyes spoke for him, the unsaid accusation understood.

"All's fair," said Jerome, his voice even and low.

Mick shook his head in disappointment, throwing his arms up. "It's not even _relevant._" Jerome said nothing, so Mick pushed past him, sitting down in the empty seat beside Mara. Jerome could hear his muttered apologies and Mara's unneeded forgiveness. Jerome's eyes followed Fabian as he stormed off in indignant silence, quickly followed by Amber, his own concerned _girlfriend. _(The word made him uneasy. Wrong face to the wrong word; it wasn't _right_.)

Jerome stared at the broken table – Alfie's eyes kept flickering between Patricia's empty seat and Amber's; Fabian's plate remained a mess of sadness and frustration; Nina stared emotionlessly at the opposite wall; Mara's kind smile didn't reach her eyes.

Sighing, Jerome stepped out and away, hoping the pregnant tension didn't follow him, consume him, control him. His feet led him to his recent refuge; as much as JeromeandAmber was _wrong_, he enjoyed her company. He liked her moments of genius, her air of simplicity, her genuine love for life. _If this wasn't all for a bet against Mick, I might actually consider her a friend._

The thought was squashed, tossed, and forgotten immediately.

For the second time that day, voices – this time louder and angrier – greeted his presence as he stood in the doorway. His constant companion, curiosity, forced him to pause at the open door.

"You're overreacting."

"I'm _overreacting?_" The thud of something knocked over. "Mick – my _best friend_ – is supposedly dating _Nina!_"

"Fabian – you _know_ it's just a rumor. Mick and Mara are dating," said Amber, an unrecognizable tone in her voice.

"I _know_," he said again, and Jerome could almost hear him pacing across the carpeted floor. "But still. I can't _believe_ Mick did that!"

"Mick didn't _do_ anything, Fabian!" Amber's defense rose in pitch. "Stop blaming him! Why would he start a rumor when he's _dating Mara_?"

Fabian sighed. "I don't _know_. Why is everything just so – "

"Messed up?" supplied Amber, her tone soft.

"Yeah."

There was a pause; Jerome moved to enter the room, but Amber spoke again.

"Maybe you should let Nina be for a while."

"What?" Fabian's startled reply caused Amber to sigh.

"Just – let her be._ I_ know you like her and she likes you; but neither of _you_ do."

Jerome let the involuntarily smile reach his lips. _I didn't realize she paid that much attention._

"What do you mean, I don't know? I like Nina," said Fabian, his frown very pronounced.

"Then _tell_ her – if you're sure."

"I _am_ sure!" said Fabian, his voice growing a little louder. Jerome took another step forward in anticipation of interrupting.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

Jerome pushed open the door, effectively cutting off Fabian's response. Head flipping back and forth, he raised an eyebrow at the other boy. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, beau!" said Amber brightly, intertwining their arms. "Fabian and I were just discussing – "

"Homework," interrupted Fabian with an artificial smile. "And I was just leaving."

His tumultuous footsteps echoed with sadness as they faded into the hallway and away.

Jerome turned to his _girlfriend._ "Hey."

"Hello," said Amber, pulling her arm away from his and returning to her desk chair. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he said, sitting on Amber's bed, cringing at the depth it sunk at his weight. "I still don't get how you can sleep on a bed this soft."

Amber rolled her eyes but her innocent smile remained. "Better soft than that rock you sleep on," she said as opened her email and began scanning the screen.

"At least it's sturdy. You're bound to have back issues eventually."

"So far, so good," said Amber, her concentration focused on her laptop. "So don't jinx it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Jerome dryly, wiping his palms against his slacks. Jerome listened to her light typing, a silence sitting around them comfortably. "So what do you think about the whole Mick and Nina thing?"

"I don't think it exists," she said coolly, her eyes still glued to her computer screen. "I think someone made up a rumor to try to get under their skin."

The truth of the statement pinched at his chest. "Why do you say that?"

Amber spun around slowly, gazing straight at him. "Because I'm quite confident that you started the rumor. What I _can't_ figure out is why."

Jerome stared back at her quietly, stubbornly refusing to respond. Amber sighed and turned back to her Facebook page, typing away at some wall post or another. The hush that followed teased with unspoken secrets; yet Amber seemed oddly at peace with remaining ignorant. _Or maybe she just knows I won't tell her._

The silence began to stifle him. "Why are you so convinced it's a rumor?"

"Because Mick would never cheat on Mara – or any girl for that matter," she said without hesitation. "And Nina loves Fabian."

"You seem quite sure of yourself."

"I am," she said without ever turning around. "Why are you so convinced that it's true?"

"I'm not."

"Fine," she corrected, facing him again and tilting her head slightly. "Why do you _want_ it to be true?"

Jerome pondered – _because that way Mick's the douche and I'm the hero; because that way Mara will run into my arms; because that way Fabian knows how it feels to be the unloved one; because I'm not nice._

A myriad of excuses swam through his mind, each fighting another, creating a castle of possible explanations. But he settled for the reason closest to the truth. "Because then I'm not the only one with irredeemable flaws around here."

What surprised Jerome the most about the response that followed was not Amber's shaking of her head or her shock. It was the laugh that left her lips, carrying so much amusement and _yellow_ that it rang against his ears and shook the walls.

"Jerome – you are _not_ the only one with 'irredeemable flaws' around here, believe me," she said, still laughing.

"How so?" he asked slowly, uncertain if she spoke in patronization or sincerity.

"Nina thinks she's higher and mightier than all of us; Mara won't do what's right if there's an easier way; Mick's quite dense and refuses to acknowledge it; Fabian holds so many double standards; Patricia's too stubborn, always believing she's right; Alfie's naivety gets in the way of his ability to reason." She smiled sadly, her eyes turning to the plain, carpeted floor. "And I run on assumptions and emotions. I don't think."

"That's not true – " said Jerome quickly, frowning deeply.

"Sure it is," said Amber before Jerome could continue. "Just like how you push everyone away, to the point that it's not even attractive anymore."

Heartbeat. Her words floated in the air, sinking deeper and deeper into him, dots connected and lines completed. There was a violet cloud that seemed to lift; the storm continued to rage, but the possibility of sunlight in the forecast seemed likely.

Jerome let himself smile. "That was _very_ insightful."

"I try," she said lightly, returning to the Internet and unproductive activities. "Maybe you should too."

He sat there, Amber's breathing and the clicking of keys the only noise in the otherwise silent room. His thoughts, meanwhile, ran rapidly to an unknown destination. Jerome stood and Amber said nothing as he made his way out of the room.

But one questioned lingered, nagging him at the edge of consciousness. Jerome breathed twice before voicing it.

"Amber?"

"Yes, Jerome?"

"Do you still love Mick?"

Heartbeat. Silence. But then – "I'll always love Mick."

"Okay," he said, the only appropriate response leaving his lips automatically. "Okay."

He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, the purple walls no longer troubling him with comfort and candidness. Only the empty hallway greeted his descent to his room, one void of humans and questions. But on the seventh step from the top, he paused, another housemate blocking his path.

Alfie stood still as voices floated from the foyer, recognizable and soft.

"I had a great time tonight, Patricia," said the squeaky boy, who Jerome faintly recognized as the vote-counter at the election. _That Mick rigged. Note to self; use that against him at some point._

"Right," said Patricia, her voice short. "I'll – uh – talk to you tomorrow, then?" She tried to seem friendly and nice, but only a hint of kindness slipped between her otherwise irate tone.

"Right!" said the boy eagerly. A pause; the boy leaned over and pecked Patricia swiftly on the cheek with his lips. Before Patricia could say anything he sprinted out the doors, leaving the other blinking in surprise.

Jerome caught sight of Alfie's face as the latter ran down the stairs, gliding away to their room; his lips frowning and his teeth grinding, Aflie's eyes glittered with sadness and despair. The dreaded creature appeared again, clenching Jerome's heart with its claws, squeezing out the slime of guilt. His gaze snapped back up when Patricia faced him, a peculiar look on her face.

"What do you want, Jerome?" she asked, her words clipped and her shoulders slumping in exhaustion. If she had noticed Alfie running away, she showed no indication of it.

"Nothing, I was just heading to my room," he said calmly, the creature churning his stomach into a medley of confusing and undistinguishable sensations. "So you and – uh, Reggie, was it?"

"Robbie," she said, the expected defense lacking in her reply.

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Well, Patricia Williamson, I am surprised at how much you've lowered your standards," he said, shaking his head. "Alfie would have been better."

"Maybe," she said, not bothering to correct his insult. "But at least Robbie's interested." Jerome watched as she climbed further, her back slumped and feet dragging up each wooden step. Frowning, he barely noticed the clock's hands move closer to ten o'clock and the sound of Victor's footsteps.

Jerome could only hear the drop of a pin when he quietly shut his door, unsettling feelings in his chest, exercising his heart in a way he had expertly avoided for sixteen years.

* * *

Friday dawned normally; the sun rose, the clouds moved, the birds chirped, and students grumbled and moaned. At high noon, the winter sun melted the morning dew and burned the backs of exposed necks. When the afternoon set upon England, the stagnant mood in the House of Anubis responded to no call from its inhabitants.

Alfie stood before the room, his fist paused before the entrance, only a rap away from a conversation he'd dreaded having. But a deep breath later and his fist collided with the wooden door, the sharp tapping echoing much too loudly for Alfie's liking. Mick slowly opened the door, stepping back when he saw Alfie.

The poster-covered walls greeted him, along with a tolerable odor very unlike the one occupying his own room. His fingers ran over the spotless wardrobe as he made his way to Fabian's bed, taking a seat.

Mick sighed. "So?"

"Fabian and Nina are not happening anytime soon," said Alfie. "Unless Amber suddenly understands math between now and the dance."

Mick bit his lip. "Right. What about Jerome and Amber? Any luck with breaking them up?"

A hot shame ran through his veins. _Hypocrite,_ the little voice screamed at him. "No – I thought you were focusing on that."

"Yeah, I got a little – distracted," said Mick, shrugging and wrapping his arms around himself. "With the whole Nina thing." Alfie nodded, surprised to find himself caring little about the rumors or even the tilt of the world's axis. "And Patricia – ?"

"Is dating Robbie McDonnell, the damn twit, and hasn't spoken to me since Wednesday," said Alfie, emotionless, despite the fervor of his words. Everything seemed simpler when he shoved swirls and dances and mixtures to the back of his brain. Forgotten and ignored, they appeared to fade away, leaving him numb; everything was just – _easier._

"Okay, well, do you want me to talk to her?"

"I'll do it," said Alfie, a pang escaping his boxed room. He quickly grabbed it and shoved it back in the cage, locking the door firmly.

"If you're sure?" asked Mick, an unfamiliar concern twitching Alfie's patience.

"_I'll do it_," he repeated, his voice sharper. Mick held up his hands in surrender and Alfie reeled in the wayward annoyance. "Anything else?"

Mick paused, nervously running a hand through his hair. "Yeah – _why_ are you doing this?" The unexpected inquiry startled him; caught unaware, Alfie raised an eyebrow. Mick's arm fell to his side. "Jerome's your best friend."

Alfie's laugh was bitter, a biting contrast to Mick's innocent question. "That's what I thought too. But best friends don't betray your trust with their worst enemy."

Mick's frown surprised him. "Why does he hate me so much?"

A vestige of loyalty surfaced. "Maybe you should ask _him_ that sometime." Alfie stepped towards the door. "Well, if you don't have anything else – "

"You like Amber, right?" The question left Mick's lips in a rush, and Alfie barely caught it. He kept his face composed, only narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

"Why?" he said, neither denying or confirming.

Alfie sensed Mick's displeasure with the idea even before he had worded it. "Because maybe you could – " Mick began, but Alfie shook his head.

"No." The knife sliced the casual air in the room, Alfie's stomach flipping in circles. "I can't."

Mick didn't protest; he just nodded. When Alfie left, he only heard a little sigh – whether it was in relief or disappointment Alfie couldn't determine.

Alfie stared at his feet as he went from one room to another, the sunlight streaming in from the hallway window. He followed the ray as it traveled to his shoes, dust floating in the light waves and reflecting as shadows on the floor. Sighing, Alfie threw open the door to his room.

Jerome was – oddly – alone and sitting on his bed, flipping through a textbook. Alfie ignored him in favor for his own soft bed, collapsing on it with as much noise as possible. His breathing stifled by the blankets, Alfie switched positions from stomach to back, resting against the large array of pillows.

Alfie stared at his roommate; Jerome's ever stoic face held no emotion. The occasion flip and shuffle of papers pierced the stillness in the room, but Alfie's eyes never strayed away from Jerome.

Finally, his tongue ran away. "I can't believe you."

Jerome's eyes shot up, taken aback at the sudden noise. "Excuse me?"

"I can't believe you," repeated Alfie, his gaze never leaving Jerome's as he sat up. "You sit there, doing your damn history homework, as if you're not a backstabbing son of a bitch."

Jerome stiffened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"As if you don't know," said Alfie, scooting forward on his bed. The sheets grouped up around him as the words tumbled through his lips, forces pulling them out. "Your bet with Mick – I know all about it."

"So?" said Jerome, shrugging, but Alfie knew him too well – he noticed the stiffness in the other's shoulders, the thinness of his lips. "I make bets all the time."

"Not about my love life," hissed Alfie. "And not with _Mick_." The poisonous name was usually forbidden in the sanctuary of those walls.

"Who I make bets with is none of your concern." The finality in his words ineffectively attempted to end the discussion.

"But betting about my _love life_," said Alfie, frustration cutting through his voice, each word leaving scars. "Is that what I am? Your play-thing?" Alfie's feet touched the floor now, his toes curling against the cool floor. "Am I just your _dog_, to jump when you say so?" Jerome stared back at him without speaking. "And to top it all off," he continued, his hands up in the air in defeat, "you're dating Amber. _Amber Millington_, the girl I've been crushing on since day freaking _one_."

"You don't love Amber, Alfie." Jerome's somber eyes met his, but his words were harsher than perhaps intended.

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't love Amber," repeated Jerome, sighing as he threw his book aside. "You love the idea of her – this pretty, popular girl who's sweet and simple." He moved closer too, keeping his gaze leveled with Alfie's. "You don't love _Amber_."

"What?" said Alfie, his fingers curling around his sheets. Emotions were building within him; it hurt to breathe. "And you _do_? What about Mara, huh?" Jerome's arm suddenly tensed and Alfie grinned grimly. "Yeah – _Mara_ – that girl you were running around with for weeks?"

"When you were off avoiding me?" The words were abrupt and Alfie could tell they were unplanned. The tiny seed of doubt and anger had been fermenting and now exploded to the surface. "You left me – you left me for _Amber_ and the others, so what was I supposed to do?"

"I didn't _leave you_," said Alfie, throwing his arms up. He was sick of the constant blame. "_You_ started hanging out with Mara ages before I started hanging out with Amber and Patricia – _Patricia_, who was there for me when I had those damn nightmares!" His eyes flashed and narrowed, and Alfie knew he had won when Jerome flinched. "Yeah, so much for being my best friend – betting on my love life, abandoning me for some girl who's already _taken _when I'm having nightmares."

If Alfie didn't know better, Jerome's cutting response would have surprised him. "Like how both Patricia _and_ Amber are taken?"

Alfie's eyes narrowed further. "Patricia has nothing to do with this – "

"So is that why does she thinks you don't like her?"

Something squeezed in his stomach. "What – "

"Oh, but don't let me forget. You love _Amber, _right? And I'm the bastard because I'm the one dating her," said Jerome, paraphrasing Alfie's own words back to him. His feet hit the floor with a thud and the muscles in his arm clenched against the bedframe. "But I'm not the bastard who betrayed his best friend by teaming up with enemy."

"Mick is _not_ the enemy, Jerome," said Alfie. He ignored the increased churning in his stomach, flickers of guilt joining the anger.

"Years of rivalry beg to differ, Alfie _dear_," said Jerome, sneering.

"_Your_ rivalry – a petty one, all because you're _jealous_ and he's _defensive_," said Alfie, his voice growing louder.

"It's not petty," said Jerome, the edge in his voice sharpening. "You would know if you'd loved a woman – oh wait, you've already screwed that up."

Heartbeat. Alfie stood abruptly, flashes of aches in his stomach, augmenting with each passing comment. He was done; he marched over to the door before he locked eyes with his roommate. "You better be sleeping when I get back, or I might not be able to restrain myself from strangling you."

Without waiting for a response, Alfie opened and slammed the door behind him, shattering glass vibrating against the zombie movies and superhero comic books and attempted schemes. Alfie rested against the sturdy wall, trying to steady his shaking legs. The cloud of sensations that consumed him danced in his vision. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, and waited. _One. Two. Three_. He opened his eyes and pulled, sucking in all the flyaway emotions before bottling them in the vial; he caged it away, the imaginary key disappearing before his eyes.

_Nothing. I will feel nothing._ Emotions assaulted and struggled to break free, but he closed off his mind. Unable to feel his toes, he coldly walked to the stairs, heading for her room. But before he could reach it, another stopped him.

Her face brightened at the sight of him. "Alfie!" said Amber, her voice jovial.

"Amber," greeted Alfie in surprise. _Fate, you can suck it_.

"How are you?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"I was just heading over to talk to Patricia," he said quickly, hoping to avoid further conversation with Amber. Her blonde hair, her _presence,_ evoked reminders of the argument he had just escaped and the boiling anger threatened to overflow once again.

"Oh," said Amber, a thoughtful smile appearing on her face. "Okay." Alfie made to move on and avoid the painful reminders in the air, but Amber continued before he could flee. "You know how Fabian loved Joy?"

"He didn't love Joy – " said Alfie, pausing in his steps, confusion momentarily overtaking urgency.

"Okay," said Amber, "he didn't _love_ Joy – romantically at least. He loved her platonically for sure; they were Harry and Hermione, except without all the Voldemort stuff." Alfie blinked. "But Nina – Fabian loves Nina, _romantically_, in that fireworks and rainbows and midnight picnics type of way."

"Okay…" The door on the opposite wall called out to him, away from a sea of references and violet truths.

"I just wish – " Amber looked at the floor and Alfie found himself frowning.

"You just wish what?"

Hazel met black; Amber smiled sadly. "I just wish people would realize that sometimes, it's better to love platonically then to be forced to love romantically. Soulmates aren't just dates – they're mates too. And the ones who are both – both friend and lover – " The smile morphed into a shrug. "Those are the best."

Alfie blinked a few times, the corners of his lips reaching upwards. "Wow Amber, that was – "

"Oh sorry, Alfie!" said Amber, cutting off his complement. "Here I am, rambling. Off you go, Romeo." She motioned grandly towards her former room, and too shocked to say anything else, Alfie just watched as she skipped down the stairs. _She doesn't even realize how incredibly smart she is._

His smile suddenly fell. _You just love the idea of her_. The accusation echoed in his head, but he shoved it aside. _Focus_.

When his fingers grazed Patricia's door, he immediately spotted her working at her desk. She looked up – Alfie has expected a smile or a greeting of some kind, but instead he got a flicker of emotion amidst blank eyes.

"Hey," she said flatly. Her eyes ran over to the other bed. Alfie followed her vision, spotting Mara; she lay blissfully unaware, headphones in her ears. "Hallway?"

"Yeah." Alfie stepped back to let Patricia out the door and found himself staring awkwardly at his feet as Patricia softly shut the door behind her. He looked up to find her look at him expectantly; he gulped before sighing. "Jerome and I got in a fight."

There was a flash of gold in her eyes, but they quickly settled. "Oh," she said; nothing more and nothing less.

"Um," said Alfie, "yeah." His eyes met hers briefly, igniting a small spark. "He mentioned that you, uh, thought I didn't – "

"I kissed Fabian," said Patricia quickly, the words falling out of her mouth without thought. She blinked rapidly before focusing her gaze on the top of his shoulder. "I kissed Fabian and you don't like me, you like Amber. So yeah. I'll see you around."

She spun around on her heel, fleeing to her room, the soft snap of the closing door echoing loudly in Alfie's ears. He blinked several times, a burning in his eyes blurring his vision. He avoided the banisters and the stairs; he didn't trip over anything or run into anyone as he journeyed back to his room.

His heart burned; the searing sensation of pain _burned_ through him, scratching against the cage he'd locked away. _Deep breaths, Alfie. Deep breaths. _His jaw relaxed, but his chest continued to spin in a chaotic dance.

By the time he reached his bed, only a few tears had escaped his eyes; yet several tears ripped through his heart. That night, Alfie didn't cry himself to sleep – but the grief and anger and confusion and frustration grew.

So many feelings overwhelming him, Alfie didn't notice Jerome's empty bed.

* * *

That night, Mick lost seven seconds off his best lap time.

That night, Patricia dyed her streak of hair black.

That night, Fabian wrote his best lyrics since term had started.

That night, Amber gushed to the stoic Nina about how she finally understood how to graph rational functions.

* * *

Heartbeat.

Her eyes opened without preamble. The lids didn't droop, begging for more sleep. Her back lay straight on her bed, her fingers curled against her side. Dragging her feet towards her, heels touching thighs, and bending her knees, she curled into the fetal position. Arms crossed around legs, she embraced herself; she no longer shivered, but she still felt cold.

The sunlight shone on the foot of her bed, swirling amidst the darkness that pervaded the room, Amber's soft snores rhythmically calming the surroundings. Nina fingered her necklace, her thumb running over the clasp. Eyes closed, she imagined Sarah's comforting presence and touch, a reminder of ties to the reality outside the House of Anubis.

Nina tiptoed to the bathroom, making quick work of her daily routine. Brushing teeth, combing hair, washing face – Nina looked decently presentable when she climbed down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. She munched on a bagel, sliding around in her slippers, before finding Trudy in the laundry room.

"Trudy?" said Nina quietly, unwilling to disturb the peace that had settled throughout the house – for the moment.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Can I call my Gran?" The timidity in her voice shocked her, a weakened reminder of the fall so far.

Trudy glanced at the clock. "It might be really late over there – "

"Gran's a night owl," said Nina, a small smile grazing her lips. "It's fine."

"Alright then," agreed Trudy, her warm beam spreading to Nna's fingers.

"Thanks, Trudy."

Nina returned to the foyer, letting her eyes glide over the elegant chandelier; her fingers swept over the telephone before she pulled up the stool and dialed.

One ring. Three. _Ring ring ring_. Finally, the ringing stopped and the static began.

"Hello?" The tender sound evoked repressed homesickness and an intense yearning for a maternal embrace.

"Gran," said Nina softly, resisting the urge to cry. "How are you?"

"I'm good! Lonely, missing you," she said. "And you? How's England – picked up an accent yet?"

"No, not yet," she Nina with light giggle. "And it's – good. Just some normal high school drama, but nothing too bad," she lied smoothly. _High school drama? Yes. Nothing too bad? Yeah, because finding a source of eternal youth and having a psychopath after you is 'nothing too bad.'_

"Good, good." Nina could hear Gran's comforting smile. "I miss you, dear."

"I miss you too," said Nina, the warmth that spread through her threatening to melt the ice behind her eyes. "A lot."

"You should call more often."

"I'll try – oh, it's not too late, is it?" asked Nina, glancing over at the clock.

"Not at all – you know me, a night owl."

The smile on Nina's lips grew wider. "Of course, Gran."

"Well, I'll let you get to it then. Don't get into too much trouble."

"Never, Gran." Nina sighed. "Love you."

"Love you too, Nina sweetie. Bye."

"Bye." The farewell pulsed against the receiver as the line disconnected and Nina replaced the phone. The sudden hush startled her, a stark contrast to the previous warmth that filled her; now she was alone and quiet in a sleeping house, cramped with mystery and secrets.

A moment passed when no noise interrupted the deathly calm that permeated the House of Anubis.

Then Nina slid off her chair and returned to the kitchen, finding four starving boys gobbling down breakfast. Fabian paused when she entered, but she quickly averted her eyes, instead smiling at Trudy when the matron handed her a plate of eggs. She had just moved onto pancakes when the other three girls groggily entered.

People blurred Nina's focus; she mechanically ate her breakfast, ignorant to any conversations or moments occurring before her. Her insulated world consisted of only herself – blink, breathe, heartbeat. Repeat.

Hours passed. She stationed herself in the armchair in the sitting room and read all day. The words weaved across the pages, stories and adventures and characters dancing in her imagination. _Jane Eyre_ relieved her from reality; she was so engrossed in the chapters and plot that when Mick slid into the room, so much time had passed. The sun warmed the air, stifling the cramped area, her clothes sticking to her skin. Her gaze followed Mick as he dragged his feet towards her.

"Hey," he finally said.

Nina sat up straighter, placing a bookmark between pages 351 and 352 and storing the book on the desk beside her. "Hey," she said. "Can we talk for a second?"

"Uh, sure," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and sitting down on the couch opposite her, next to the wide window.

"This whole rumor thing," said Nina bluntly, causing Mick to blink several times, "did you start it?"

"What? No," said Mick, shaking his head. "I wouldn't do that."

"Okay." Nina relaxed against her chair again and picked up her book. "Sorry I bothered you then."

"Uh – um, it's no big deal," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He started to stand, but paused momentarily. "I'm sorry, by the way."

Nina adorned her staple – a bitter smile. "I know you are." Mick bit his lip, but left the room without words, leaving Nina to return to her book and fairytale. She had read ten pages, but when she was interrupted again, Nina felt only seconds pass.

When she spotted Patricia entering the room, the smile that brightened the latter's face falling quickly, Nina bit her lip and forced herself to resist the urge to grind her teeth. Patricia kept her gaze leveled with Nina's as she sat down.

Heartbeat.

"I really don't want to talk to you right now." Nina's voice cracked as she struggled to remain neutral and collected. "Please." The final word cackled in sarcasm.

Patricia's eyes narrowed. "It's not my fault. _I_ don't like Fabian."

Nina rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I just _really_ don't want to talk to you."

"Who's asking you to talk to me?" said Patricia, frowning deeply. "And why do you keep expecting everyone to do whatever you say?" Her eyebrow rose smoothly, and Patricia's lips turned upwards in a sardonic smile. "Oh, that's right," she said, rolling her eyes, "you're Nina Martin. You're the damn Queen."

Patricia's words struck her in the stomach, drawing blood. "What are you talking about?" Fire blended into her veins, spreading swiftly through her body. "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay? You've done enough."

"I haven't _done anything_," said Patricia, her voice squeaking higher. "Stop pretending like you're an angel and I'm the devil or something."

"Whatever," said Nina, muttering darkly, aches in her abdomen making it harder to breathe. "I'm not the one who ruins friendships."

"Oh, don't act all innocent," said Patricia, her fists clenching in her lap, a long abandoned dislike surfacing, "you think you're the best of us. All high and mighty."

"I do _not_," said Nina, gripping her book tightly, ignoring the flashes of lilac that rolled in her stomach. "Stop putting words into my mouth."

"I don't have to," said Patricia. "_I _ruin friendships? You walk into this house, all _I'm American!_ And you start brewing this mystery and rope in the one friend I had left. And then, Amber stops talking to me. Then you fill me in and I think, hey, maybe you're not that bad?" Patricia shakes her head, tongue running across cheek. "Oh no, it's Nina this! Nina that! Your ideas are the best ones; your plans are the ones we follow."

"It's not my fault no one else comes up with anything!"

"Maybe," said Patricia, but pent up frustration continued to spill, "but when Alfie tries joking – what he does best – to cheer you up, you snap at him! And oh, everyone _rushes_ to Nina's defense because she's _always_ right." Patricia stood up, her eyes flashing. "Nina, you were right. You're not trying to replace Joy. You're just trying to control everything else."

Patricia spun on her heel and stormed out, leaving no room for Nina to interject. Air seemed to calm, descending to the floor. Panting heavily, her hands relaxed from gripping the cover of her book, but the shock of criticism shook her; red and raw, her check felt as if it had been slapped. _I do not try to control everything_.

But even as the sun sank further and the light from the window diminished, Nina knew it wasn't true. Dinner edged closer, and Nina continued to study the floor, carpeted strands connecting dots. _I get angry every time someone wants to join Sibuna. I have less power then. I have less authority. I get upset every time Fabian smiles at anyone – boy or girl. I'm jealous and controlling._

Even as the others headed to the dining table for dinner, the parts began fitting in place. Every action seemed suddenly premeditated to maximize control and minimize room for questioning it. _I'm right and everyone else is wrong_.

"Nina? Time for supper." Amber's voice cut through her thoughts and she surfaced to reality. Everyone else already sat at the table, plates circling around.

The seat at the head of the table was the only remaining empty one. As Nina walked over to it, she caressed the familiar markings and pulled out the chair. _My seat. At the head of the table._

_ My seat._

Taking her seat, Nina fingered the clasp of the locket on her neck, the nail polish on her fingers momentarily twinkling like lavender glitter.

* * *

Perhaps if someone had looked out the window before dinner, he or she might have seen the clouds gathering and the early sunset.

But no one did, and the pieces scattered to the wind.

* * *

Stiff and mechanical, hands picked up utensils. Food entered mouths, jaws chewed food, water fled down throats. Dinner was merely a routine that night.

Mick rolled a carrot around in his gravy, head resting on hand, elbow on table. Quiet ruled the night, only the sounds of clanking metal and slurping tongues interrupting the silence. Tension sat proudly, floating over them all, as if waiting; waiting, Mick hoped, for something that would never come.

Unfortunately, it did.

"Pass the corn, please," said Nina, her voice so unfamiliar to Mick, hoarse and splintering under the pressure.

Without comment, Amber reached over and made to hand Nina the container of corn, but her elbow missed the space between glasses and knocked water onto Mara.

"Oh!" said Mara, scooting back her chair and blinking at the wet stain.

"Oh, I'm so sorry – let me get you some napkins!" said Amber quickly, moving to the kitchen. Mick stood up without hesitation, preparing to help Mara.

To his surprise, Jerome stood right beside him.

Ignoring the raging beast in his stomach, he merely raised a suspicious eyebrow at the other. Jerome completely disregarded him, smiling at Mara and handing her a napkin from Amber's hands.

"Oh, it's fine, guys," said Mara, the smile not reaching her eyes as Mick grabbed a tissue to start drying the floor. "Really, Mick," she said again when Mick took more of the napkins to do further cleaning, "it's fine."

Mick paused and nodded. "Okay, okay," he said. Grudging up a smile, he returned the unused napkins back to Amber, disregarding the flick of the creature when his hands grazed hers.

Dinner continued, although Amber kept whispering apologizes and Mara kept dodging them. But finally, the creature had enough; Mick _accidentally_ knocked over the saltshaker, sending tiny grains flying onto the plate across from his.

Jerome stiffened. "Watch it, Campbell."

"Oops," said Mick, his voice very unapologetic. "Sorry."

Alfie and Fabian were dumping their plates into the sink, Nina hesitating before following. Amber frowned at Mick, her eyes glittering in that way where he knew she needed to say something. Patricia nudged her, however, and the two stood off in a contest that Mick could not understand. But his eyes went back to Jerome's, battling for dominance. _Déjà vu._

When Mick's attention diverted because Amber giggled and Mara stroked his hand, Jerome broke and Mick almost missed him grinding his teeth.

"So Mick – how goes the progress on our little bet?"

The unspoken agreement of secrecy snapped, broken by increased pressure. Jealousy and distaste cut the strings; now, Mick and Jerome had to fight to hold the remaining ends.

"What is he talking about Mick?" Mara's timid voice reawakened the beast within him, the urge to defend and protect overtaking the rational part of his mind. "What bet?"

Mick's glare intensified on Jerome, the smug cat snacking on a canary. Jerome grinned back at him. "Yes, what bet, dear Mick?"

"Like you don't know, Clarke," hissed Mick, picking himself up, fully aware that all eyes were on him. Subconsciously, he stepped away from the kitchen and towards the sitting room, back against the wall. "It was your idea."

"Yes, but _I _didn't ask you to bet about your friends' love lives. You agreed to it."

Silence hovered over the room, and no one spoke.

Then Amber dropped her plate. "_You made a bet about our love lives?_" Her voice was so quiet, Mick wondered if he was the only one who could hear his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Mick gulped, his eyes stuck on Amber's, ever aware that Mara's breath tickled his side. "Yeah, I did," he finally said, stepping back so he faced everyone. Nina's harsh laugh did nothing to stop the sudden flow of confessions that left his mouth. "Yeah I bet that Nina and Fabian wouldn't get together by the dance and that Alfie and Patricia would and that _you_, Amber, wouldn't have a date afterwards," he said quickly, unloading the burden that built inside him, each weight lifting slowly and lightening his chest. "And I bribed Robbie to rig the election in Mara's favor in return for him getting a date with Patricia," he continued, smiling wryly at Patricia and Alfie, the former who bit her lip sardonically and the latter whose eyes narrowed dangerously. They converged upon him, cutting the table off from their elliptical orbit. "Oh and I purposefully didn't turn in Fabian's Rosegrams so that Nina would get jealous of Patricia and ruin that relationship. And I sent one to Patricia to make it look like Robbie did. And I used Alfie to get back at Jerome. And I'm a damn _bastard_, okay?"

The palpable silence that followed threatened to devour him and the frayed group that stood in that room. Only the clicks of the clock pierced the otherwise suffocating quiet.

Mick expected Mara to start screaming at him; instead, she spun sharply towards Jerome, cornering him against the wall. The rough circle was suddenly complete; each could see the others, equally separate and equally together.

"You made a bet about Alfie's love life?" Her question was intended to be quiet, but the shrill words carried easily over the dense and fractured silence.

Jerome blinked. "Yeah, but you heard Mick – he bribed the – "

"Is that why you're dating Amber?"

Heartbeat.

"Yeah, is it?" asked Amber suddenly, her dazed look shooting to her _boyfriend_. "I know you wanted Mara jealous, but were you doing it because you wanted it to look like I was dating someone?"

_Wait, the hell? Making Mara jealous?_ "What the hell, Jerome? Were you after my girlfriend?"

"Stop talking about her like she's a possession," said Patricia, grimacing at him. "Pig."

"Shut up, Patricia," cut in Amber, her eyes leaving Jerome's face for only a moment. "Answer the damn question, Jerome." Her vivid words brought the world closer; gravity pulled harder and harder.

"Yeah," said Jerome finally.

Mara shook her head in disgust, clicking her tongue. "_You're_ a pig. Maybe you were right and Mick is a meathead," she said, her words piercing the safety net around his heart. Red fire crawled through his blood. Mara sighed, shaking her head, "but I expected more from you, Jerome."

"I'm Jerome freaking Clarke," he said, his eyes flashing dangerously in time with his dour smirk. "I don't do expectations."

"You don't _do_ anything," cut in Mick. "Yet somehow, you've taken everything."

"Oh really, Mick? What do I have that you don't? Parents? A scholarship? Friends?" His sour chuckle vibrated against the tightening walls. "Oh _wait_."

"You have Mara," corrected Mick, stepping further away, enlarging the circle further. The burning in his heart reflected the searing pain behind his eyes, the throbbing pain growing in his forehead. "You have Amber, you have Alfie, you have the popularity, you're now-former best friend won't abandon you for a girl. Everyone _loves_ the bad-boy, Jerome."

"Oh call a whambulance," said Alfie, rolling his eyes and waving a hand at him. "At least he doesn't cheat on elections."

"I didn't abandon you," said Fabian softly, while Patricia continued to seethe beside him. Mick was prepared for Patricia's blow-up, but not for Fabian's cutting disappointment. "You abandoned _me_ when you disappeared, picking sports and girls over me."

Before Mick could respond to the one who used to be his refuge when the pressure became too much – when the bubbles threatened to explode and overflow – Patricia blew.

"I can't _believe _you used _me_ as leverage!" she said, her voice rising dangerously high.

"Why do you even care? You don't even _like_ Robbie," said Alfie.

"At least _he_ likes me! Unlike you, you like Amber."

"No, apparently I just like _the idea_ of her."

Jerome laughed unpleasantly amidst the sudden outpour of unfamiliar conflicts and Mick frowned as words flew past him.

"What do you mean – the idea of me?" Amber's voice wavered, based in anger and confusion. Each wave was a jagged line, cutting through the numbness that had begun to settle over him.

"He means that you're this ideal he can never get. You're unattainable."

"I am _not _unattainable." Mick narrowed in on the one voice – _her_ voice – the other louder and angrier sounds too suffocating; he was drowning in a sea of loss and confusion and _words _and her voice was the sunlight, guiding him to the surface.

"Yes you are," said Mara, rejoining the fray. "You still love Mick."

Mick would be ashamed of the ignited fire in his heart if he weren't already enraged.

"And you love Jerome – yet you're dating Mick. So what does that make _you_, Mara?"

"What are you insinuating, Amber?"

"I was _insinuating_ that you're a two-timing whore but if you'd rather I call you something else - "

"You _bitch _ - "

"Oh, please, Mara. You're no better than her. We're all bitches, haven't you heard?"

"You specialize in bitch, Patricia, but that doesn't mean you get to label the rest of us. What did I do to you?"

"To me? Nothing. Except try to excuse away your judgmental double standard, when it's as messed up as Nina's."

"_Hey_. Leave Nina out of this!"

"Why should I? She's as much in this as you are!"

"No she's not – "

"Yes, Fabian, she is. She blew up at Patricia today about _nothing_. And don't you get started with me. You _kissed_ Patricia and you're acting like you're a bloody saint!"

"WHAT? You kissed Patricia?"

"She kissed me, it was nothing – "

"No, Patricia kissing Jerome was nothing; this, on the other hand – "

"_YOU KISSED JEROME?_ You _bitch_."

"Takes one to know one."

"Will you leave her _alone_, Patricia? You're the witch around here."

"Oh man up. Say it with me – _bitch_. You're acting like such a girl. Maybe Patricia's not the only bitch around here."

"Stay out of this, Clarke."

"Make me, _Rutter_."

"Maybe I will – "

"No, he won't, Nina's watching. His precious Nina, who won't say anything because she's just a meek and perfect little girl – "

"_Shut up, _Alfie."

"Leave him alone!"

"Then tell him to stop insulting Nina!"

"Then tell _her_ to start defending herself!"

"What, like you don't just run away from every fight anyway?"

"What, like _you_ don't, mister _I'm-too-cool-to-let-anyone-through-my-big-fat-walls-because-I-have-such-a-troubled-soul_. Please, find another cliché, Mr. Rochester."

"Would you look at that, Alfie _reads_!"

"Of course he reads!"

"Oh, but you don't, do you Amber? You're just a dumb blonde, pretty and a guy stealer."

"That means _so much_ coming from you, Mara."

"At least I'm not stupid."

"Stop it." Mick's voice cracked, his words dying under the shouts and insults. "_Stop it_."

No one heard him as Fabian threw an accusation in Patricia's face, who retaliated with a broken promise to Amber. Jerome snarled and Mara bristled; Alfie's numb façade broke as words he'd never heard spilled across the room.

Mick looked at Nina; she'd stop staring emotionlessly at the walls and instead her eyes seemed to flicker around, one by one. For a moment, they locked eyes – _this is stupid, why are we doing this, this shouldn't be happening_ – but the moment passed quickly. She closed her eyes; her clenched fists were the only evidence that chaos surrounded her.

"You were _helping_ Mick?"

"Of course he was. Alfie specializes in pathetic."

"Says you – you probably sent Mara – _who has a boyfriend_ – a Rosegram."

"_Had_ a boyfriend. Her and Mick aren't together anymore."

"Since _when_? You don't dictate my love life."

"Oh but Mick does – he just does it through bets, haven't you heard?"

The tornado whipped his hair across his face; sweat formulated across his forehead.

"Well – Mick's still in love with Amber! He's a sneaky, cheating bastard! How are you still with him?" Mick didn't bother trying to piece together how Jerome knew; his attempt at sabotage did little to faze him.

Mick smiled dryly. "Yeah, maybe I still love Amber. But I never cheated on Mara. I never tried to hurt her. I never tried to force her into something she didn't want."

"You're just the _second _choice, Mick," said Patricia, her frown harsh and almost _black_. "You're the safety net."

Punches against his ribs, swipes at his dignity; Mick ignored the storm cloud hovering over him. Insults continued to be cast, bouncing off furniture and hitting their closest targets. Meant to cut and bruise, words left mouths, unplanned and uncouth; each moment the storm grew louder and stronger, the wires stretching thinner.

"YOU TOOK MY BOYFRIEND."

"HE DIDN'T LOVE YOU."

"HE JUST SAID _HE STILL DOES._"

"WHAT, LIKE HIS WORDS MEAN ANYTHING?"

"YOUR WORDS ARE SHIT, JEROME, DON'T EVEN – "

"I WASN'T TALKING TO YOU – "

"LEAVE HIM – "

"STOP DEFENDING – "

"I WASN'T FINISHED – "

"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION – "

"NO – "

Snippets of shouted phrases bombarded him, nonsensical fragments of no value. His headache prodded him painfully, increasing in vigor as the argument – _my fault, I started it, I should be the one being yelled at _– gained momentum. Faster and louder and stronger and snappier – the intensity grew, melting any peace that had previously inhabited the House of Anubis.

Yellow and timberwolf and violet and silver and orange and sapphire and indigo and scarlet. Colors crashed against the walls, pigments no longer complementary and no longer supplementary. Isolated and alone, they refused to mix and mingle, persistent individuals clashing rather than blending.

Mick was done. "STOP IT!" His voice was louder this time, slamming against the other shouts. But it wasn't enough.

"I WILL NOT STAND HERE – "

"YOUR FACE DISGUSTS ME – "

"I _CAN'T_ – "

"OH, _PLEASE_ – "

"I SAID," repeated Mick, his breathing labored and consciousness leaving him faintly, "STOP IT – "

The amalgam of voices continued, until –

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" Victor's voice cut through all the broken hearts and wounded souls in one swipe, piercing the room with silence.

No one spoke. Only stillness responded to Victor as answers sunk into their questions, secrets revealing their inherent poisons.

Heartbeat.

"Absolutely nothing is going on here, Victor." Nina at last spoke, the finality in her voice cracking the last trace of peace, settling the rising friction, pushing aside the tangled wires of friendship. Her eyes traveled across the room, reaching seven others, resting lastly on Fabian's. Their crimson faces and panting chests gave her the only response she needed. Her gaze snapped back to Victor and a sour smile masked the sound of the cracking hearts. "Absolutely nothing."

And she walked away, the final, violet pigments of dust settling on the ancient floor.


	3. promises

**Title:** One Temporary Escape  
**Summary: **Roses, chocolate, flowers. Bets, octagons, dances. Hugs, kisses, love. Valentine's Day.  
**Warning/Spoiler: **Post-"House of Victory"  
**Rating**: T/PG-13  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Various. Ensemble fic.

**Author's Note:** Three years after I started this, I finally post the final chapter… And on Valentine's Day!

Please remember that this fic was written and takes place during season one. Specifically, it takes place post-"House of Victory" and mentions events that happen after. But there is no Eddie or KT, Joy is still missing, etc.

I want to dedicate this final chapter, and I guess in a way this entire fic, to a couple of people: Laura, Remi, Viv, Sara, Scarlett, Katie, Emily, Wheaty, and Grace. Each of you aided my return to this stupid, dumb fandom in some way and I am really thankful because it's the first time in a _very _long time that I've actually enjoyed the experience. So thank you. A lot. (But, I need to give a special shout-out specifically to Grace because without you I probably would have never met any of the others. So thanks for that review a year ago.)

But thank you to _all _my readers and followers, especially those who left reviews – you're the reason I (semi) finished this. You are all totally awesome.

In the end, this is not a completed chapter. There are about 2 or 3 parts that are just outlines of what would happen (these outlines are in italics). Hopefully having all of it makes up for it taking so long!

* * *

**One Temporary Escape**

3: _promises_

On normal days, the sun rose in the east, glared for about twelve hours, and then set in west. Individuals awakened at all hours of the day, went about their lives for another fifteen hours or so, and then fell asleep when exhausted.

Normal days passed, twenty-four hours of routine spontaneity.

Sunday was a normal day.

And so, Sunday passed.

* * *

The puzzle began as separate pieces of jagged lines and unflattering images. Nothing fit; where circles fit holes, edges missed spaces. The final product lay untold and unsaid, undiscovered and unimaginable; there was only an image in disarray and in discord.

* * *

Monday passed as most Mondays do - grumbling students and enduring fatigue, overshadowed only by the consistent reminder of _four more days. _But this Monday included untouched food, awkward silences, and averted glances; the uneasiness between the residents of the House of Anubis pervaded their every actions.

Excitement boiled within the hallways of the school, however; students sought last-minute dates and dresses and flowers. Pink and red filled the air. Only eight students dragged their feet from class to class, grunted and mumbled garbled responses, and plastered artificial smiles onto their faces.

When they arrived home, Trudy barely greeted them before one group became two which became four, splitting down the gender line and to their rooms. Their bubbles of isolation persisted, stifling any possible small talk.

No one spoke.

* * *

Her book was bound by a thin lace, circled around pages and spine; the fragile paper hung together in her hands, fingerprints and oils smeared across pages, but words still shining brightly. She gently flipped a page over her fingers, letting the frayed edge tickle her skin, before dragging her fingertips down the sheet and over the printed letters. She sighed sadly; the reigning silence nagged at her. She wanted to shout and scream, to evoke chaos and _noise_ just so she didn't have to deal with the suffocating hush that had taken over the mansion, an undetectable plague slowly conquering each resident.

Amber flopped down on her bed, the ancient copy of _The Pickwick Papers_ falling to her side. The exhausted hardback haunted her, eliciting her need for adventure and companionship. Her eyes left the book and fell on the opposite bed, empty and still. Nina had stationed herself in the living room couch where no one would disturb her; no one walked through rooms they didn't need to anymore.

Fire ran through Amber's veins; anger caused her to grip her blankets tightly. All the confusion and madness and chaos chipped away at her heart – she preferred the drama to the numbness that had prevailed. Life over death; passion over apathy.

She headed to her computer, a habitual refuge away from break-ups and Sibuna and people. It was her isolation and sanctuary; but at that moment, she needed the Internet to lead her to reconciliation, to a finished puzzle.

Clipped phrases yielded no relevant links. Genius ideas eluded her, brilliant inspirations lost with the scattered strings of her heart. Amber had no idea what to do; no options seemed plausible or _right_. Strands of hair fell onto her face as she spun around in her chair in frustration. Blowing them away, her eyes fell onto the vase by her bed, where roses drooped and tossed leaflets sat, discarded and ignored.

_Stupid things – all because of some roses, I'm restless and people aren't talking and this is _stupid. Amber's hand ran through her hair; her toes bent in her socks, and without thought, she walked over to the Rosegrams. Her hand studied the darkened petals before resting on the notes.

A slur of names filled her. _Jerome. Silas. Evan. _The strange scrawls of the unknown letters provoked no curiosity; but the familiar handwriting teased the edges of her mind. She _knew_ that writing – both of them – and she knew them well, but the fitting names eluded her.

A sliver of memory arose. A homework assignment borrowed, notes copied, smiles eagerly dawned; his voice spoke to her, a lilac accent coloring his words.

And suddenly, she _knew_.

Amber discarded the notes and the worries of moments previous. Skipping out of the room, her feet collided against the wooden flooring, creating the first sounds other than creaking floorboards in hours. Her socks allowed her to slide across the landing and glide down the stairs; luckily for her, she ran into her destination exiting the kitchen into the sitting area.

"Alfie!" Her voice, pitched at a normal volume, echoed sharply against the quiet house. Alfie jumped, startled at the sudden voice that pierced the thick tension hovering in each room.

"Amber?" he whispered, his voice cracking with disuse. Confusion was etched into his face, lining the creases in his forehead from his raised eyebrows.

"So I have an amazing idea!" she said, the normal cheerfulness in her voice glittering brightly. "But first I have to tell you something."

"Um. Okay?"

She knew he was surprised that someone was actually talking; she knew he was surprised it was the two of _them_ speaking. But Amber ignored her superego for the moment, focusing at the task at hand. "I know you sent me a Rosegram."

Heartbeat.

Alfie didn't answer, his lips stuck together and his words caught in his throat. Amber sighed but nodded. "Okay, I get it. You like me – who wouldn't? And you're really sweet and funny." Alfie's eyes brightened slightly, so Amber felt her stomach twist with her impeding words. "But – you're like my little brother, Alfie!" His eyes fell again, and Amber gave into the urge to step forward and comfort him. A small hand on his arm, she smiled gently. "You want _Patricia_, not me; and I – " she stops before straightening. "And we wouldn't work as a couple. But I _need_ you to be friends with me."

Alfie's gaze remained on her hand until it fell on her face. He bit his lip, pondering, before sighing. "I need you as a friend too."

Amber grinned widely, embracing Alfie firmly without hesitation. "Good! Now about this whole dramatic mess…"

"It's not just drama this time, Amber," said Alfie, his voice somber and frustrated. "We're all just – too _different_." He shook his head sharply. "No, we can't all just be one big happy family."

"Yes," insisted Amber, "we _can._ And I'm going to prove it to you. All I need you to do is this one thing."

"What?"

"I need you to talk to Jerome – I know," she added quickly, when Alfie started to interject, "that you're mad at him. But I'm sure if you talk to him, listen to him, he'll listen to you too. And you'll figure it out." Amber smiled sadly. "You two are one of the core friendships – fix that, and everything else follows."

He stared at the floor, internal battle raging between easy and right. But Alfie's conscience won – he sighed deeply. "Okay, I'll talk to Jerome – but you have to do one thing for me."

Amber shrugged nonchalantly. "What?"

"Promise me that you'll never give up on us. All of us," said Alfie, an emotion highlighting his voice, coloring it with longing, regret, and hope.

"I don't need to promise that to you," said Amber frankly, "you already know it."

Alfie's laugh eased away some of the tension clouding the stillness. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"So, we have a deal?"

Alfie nodded solemnly in agreement, a ghost of a smile rising in the tips of his lips. "Yeah, we do."

Amber's squeal was subdued and softer than normal, but glee filled every note of her high-pitched excitement. She hugged Alfie once more before spinning around and skipping to her room, her giddy giggles chipping away at the silence.

* * *

The corner pieces were in place, flat lines outlining a lost illustration; the blurred recognition of tranquility signaled the beginning of the end.

* * *

Alfie turned around; he was facing an empty foyer and a hushed mansion, every corner and edge filled with nothingness. The deep breath that left his lips filled nothing, bouncing against the thick air and rebounding back towards him. Eyes tilted to the ceiling for a moment; Alfie sighed again and headed towards his room.

When the Alfie pushed the door open, it creaked loudly. Jerome's head lifted upwards, but upon spotting Alfie, it crashed back down upon his pillow, eyes shut tightly and headphones blocking sound completely. Alfie gently shut the door behind him before sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed upon his roommate.

"You shouldn't treat me like a dog," he said softly after moments of silence passed. His voice slid across the room effortlessly and Jerome's headphones fell out of his ears.

"I know."

"I'm sorry I teamed up with Mick."

"I know."

"He's not that bad."

"I know."

"You should talk to him."

The best friends stared at each other; blue and black battled together, a tug of war straining their reserves. But then they both pulled; equilibrium established, Jerome blinked and Alfie rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I will. Eventually," said Jerome solemnly, but his eyes seemed to glitter. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"It's worth a lot," said Alfie. "Just so you know."

Jerome shrugged, guilt filling his shoulder's movements. "I feel bad for promising to get you a date to the dance and then not getting you one."

The implication – _I'm sorry you can't trust me; I don't care if you don't like me but I need you to trust me_ – brightened the room, and Alfie smiled. "Don't worry about it. I tried to juggle two girls at one time. But Amber doesn't like me like that and Patricia won't talk to me."

"So you've botched it up. I told you it was a bad idea to send Rosegrams to multiple girls," said Jerome, the corner of his lip tilting upwards and a hesitant stutter preventing the usual cutting sarcasm from emerging.

Alfie frowned but without malice. "I didn't say I sent Rosegrams to both of them – "

"You didn't need to."

Heartbeat.

"You sent one to Mara, didn't you?" Alfie never let his eyes wander from Jerome's face, studying him cautiously, knowing that the answer lay not in words, but in the subtle facial expressions.

Jerome nodded.

Alfie sighed.

Wisps of reaching stillness crept into their room; but before they could eliminate the emerging warmth, Jerome stood up abruptly, dumping Alfie's dirty white clothes into his own hamper. Alfie opened his mouth to speak, but Jerome interrupted him before he could begin.

"I need to wash my whites, and I don't have enough to do an entire load," he said, answering the unasked question. "So no problem." Jerome's eyes restlessly shifted between the door and Alfie as his brain worked rapidly.

"Uh, yeah. Okay."

As Jerome left the room, Alfie stared at the empty bed, framed in maps and photographs. He flopped down on his own bed with his arms stretched out; he let himself relax as reconstruction tugged at his heartstrings.

* * *

Jerome silently shuffled out of his room, carrying the purple laundry basket. Since the clothes – a mixture of his and Alfie's – barely reached the rim, Jerome walked swiftly and effortlessly.

He ran into Patricia at the door to the laundry room.

Heartbeat.

A pervasive unease hovered around them; Jerome kept his eyes on the floor and Patricia bit her lip thoughtfully, but his eyes flicked upwards when he heard a deep sigh.

Their eyes met – hers flashed, his twinkled; she shook her head, he raised an eyebrow; she smiled subtly, he laughed slightly. The string, tied and knotted, bounced back; the slack was gone, tight and firm once again. Jerome gestured dramatically towards the doorway and Patricia rolled her eyes, but allowed her lips to tilt upward as she walked inside, Jerome quickly following her. Quietly, they loaded and unloaded the washer and dryer, arms full of clothes.

A pervasive comfort hovered around them; Jerome whistled and Patricia shot him annoyed looks. He laughed loudly when she pelted a sock at him.

* * *

Each step vibrated against the hardwood floors, her feet only covered in socks. The mansion still housed the ivory, winter chill, and Patricia shivered as she carried her laundry basket against her hip and climbed the stairs. Each creak and groan from the aging steps prickled her nerves, sending her senses to an olive and scarlet overdrive. Every sound was amplified; every sense was heightened.

Her room was empty and gray when she arrived, so Patricia quickly set about finishing the menial tasks – she folded her clothes, put them away, finished her math homework, and packed up for the next day. When she sat down on her bed, there were hours to go before the dance – _am I even going to that thing? With Robbie, who I don't even like?_ – and she had nothing with which to occupy her time. She sighed and flipped herself over onto her stomach, reaching into her backpack, rustling through papers and binders. Her finger caught on a metal spiral, and frowning, Patricia pulled out a worn lilac notebook, the light reflecting against the glossy cover. Memories of stolen scribbles and hasty notes teased the edges of her mind; a smile floated onto her face.

As if summoned, the door opened and closed, Mara's attendance suddenly dramatizing the irony evident in her appearance. The two exchanged an awkward greeting, an acknowledgement of clashing presence, before Patricia's eyes focused again on the forgotten notebook on her lap. When Mara squeaked, however, Patricia looked up.

"Is that - ?" asked Mara, her eyes a little wider and her voice a little brighter, with sunshine nostalgia.

"Yeah," said Patricia, a small smile resting on her lips. "From maths last year."

Mara giggled slightly. "I remember that conversation about Evan Summers – how many pages did that take up anyway?"

"Ten," said Patricia with a small, golden grin. "Mrs. Andrew complimented me on my 'diligence and attention towards the subject of factoring.'"

"More like the subject of athlete versus meathead."

"What's the difference?"

The two laughed, vibrations striking against the cut ties. Patricia sighed into her hand as Mara sunk onto her bed.

"I miss you." Patricia's words were black and red, blunt and rigid. "I need my best friend back."

"Joy's your best friend, Patricia," said Mara, her voice small and hesitant, cracking against walls of worry.

Patricia rolled her eyes, pushing the bound papers aside. "This isn't primary school, Mara – you can have more than one best friend." Mara bit her lip, and Patricia sighed at the other's obvious conflicting emotions. The violet and navy and crimson pulled in different directions, the rope's tension building and building. When Mara flipped a lock of hair around a finger, Patricia cut the extraneous strings, leaving a singular path. "Mara, I'm sorry it feels like I've abandoned you. I've been so wrapped up with finding Joy, I left you in a middle of this stupid love triangle with Mick and Jerome. _Mick_ and _Jerome_ – " she emphasized, a hint of fondness in her supposed disgust, " – of all people. But at least one of them challenges you."

Mara looked up at the remark, interested. "Which one?"

Patricia laughed and shook her head. "Why would I tell you? Besides, I'm not good with the guy thing - ask Amber."

Mara's crestfallen look colored her words. "Like Amber would talk to me. She never forgave me for 'stealing' Mick."

"Can you blame her?"

Heartbeat. A silence hovered between the two, but the ointment healed the wounds and inspired the spark. Mara frowned thoughtfully.

"No, I can't," she said slowly, realization dawning as patches covered cracks. "And that's completely my fault."

"Not completely, no," said Patricia, shaking her head with a small shrug. "An argument or a conflict is never completely one person's fault." Patricia knew the double meaning in her diction; she knew the hypocrisy in her statements. But she shoved aside the nagging conscience, plum flashes of the truth knocked aside.

Mara didn't seem to notice. "You're right, of course." She smiled, a few teeth peaking out between her lips. "Thank you, Patricia. I – I miss you too," she said softly. A rosy haze settled over them then; Patricia felt her heart calming, lifting.

"I can't promise to never accidently ditch you again," said Patricia. "But I can promise to try my very best not to, okay?"

"Okay," said Mara with a small nod. "And I can't promise to always understand, but I promise to always try to anyway."

Patricia paused for a moment, unable to gather the right words; instead, she just walked over to the other girl. Mara stood and accepted the embrace without comment. Patricia admitted she was surprised at herself – _look at me, hugging someone_ – but only for the briefest of moments before the gray faded. "Now," she said when her arms fell back to her side, surprised at the orange fire spreading through her chest, "about that conversation with Amber you need to have – "

Mara sighed loudly. "Yeah, I know. Maybe tomorrow, after all this business with the dance has settled down…"

"I can't tell you what to do," said Patricia as she stepped back to her own bed, "but I think you should talk to her now. It'll make you feel better."

"I feel fine – " Mara cut off at Patricia's look. "Okay, okay, you're right!"

Patricia let herself laugh: golden bells ringing amidst indigo shadows. "Always am, Mara."

* * *

The sound of her knuckles rapping against wood echoed against the hallway. Mara glanced behind her, not truly expecting anyone to be there but rather hoping that someone was. _Maybe then I could get out of this._

But when the door swung open and Mara found herself staring at Amber's questioning expression, the doubt fled and nervousness took over.

"Hi Amber," she said, her fingers interlocking in front of her, squirming. "Um – I wanted to, uh, talk."

Amber just stared at her, and Mara swore it took at least a minute before the blonde sighed, nodded, and stepped back. Mara glanced at the pink decorations before Amber shut the door and Mara was forced to calm the storm in her chest.

"Amber – " she started, before the doubt crept back. _Why am I doing this? Amber's probably still mad at me and – and she called me a _whore_ – why am I doing this?_

Patricia's voice, mixed in with her own cutting words, came back to her. _I am doing this because this is as much my fault as it is Amber's. _If Amber noticed the whirlwind of thoughts flying through Mara's mind, she made no indication. The blonde stood still, just looking, and Mara felt shivers throughout her body.

"Amber," she said again, "I'm sorry."

"For stealing my boyfriend or for being a horrible best friend?" said Amber, her arms crossing over her chest and the edge in her voice sharpening.

"Both," said Mara before sighing and pushing back the river of emotions threatening to overtake her. "For everything. I'm just – I'm _sorry_, Amber. I just miss being _friends_ with you." A spark of hope ignited in her heart when Amber's face softened. "I'm sorry I called you names and I'm sorry for not trying to talk to you earlier." The words so long held back seemed easier to spill now. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, Amber – but," she said, hesitating for moment before continuing, "I'm not sorry I'm dating Mick."

Amber's face fell a little, but only for a moment. She nodded. "I understand, Mara. I'm sorry I called you mean names too – but I'm not sorry for being upset." Mara found that this didn't offend her. "But I am sorry it took so long for me to get over it. You were – you were my best friend," she said, her eyes falling to the floor and Mara bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

Words escaped Mara, but she knew what she had to do. She walked over and hugged Amber without a word, the previous doubt and hesitance that had plagued her for months suddenly a footnote in an abandoned work-in-progress. The hope and fire that began to warm her heart was spreading; Mara found she liked that.

Amber released her when Mara cleared her throat nervously. "So are you going to ask for boy advice now or not?" asked Amber.

Mara raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What?"

"Oh don't be silly," said Amber, rolling her eyes, "I'm obviously the best one to ask and now that we're friends again you have no reason not to!"

"Oh," said Mara, the corners of her lips pulling upward. "I guess you're right."

Amber nodded sagely. "Of course I am."

Mara opened her mouth to respond but couldn't seem to formulate the _right words. _She bit her lip in frustration; there didn't seem to be a way to phrase her question without seeming worthless, stupid, or purposefully hurtful.

Amber noticed. "It's really not that hard, Mara." When Mara frowned, taken aback, Amber shook her head and took her place at her desk. "Listen to your heart."

Any response Mara could have made to counter Amber's seemingly obvious advice was negated once the door opened once more. Mara glanced over to Nina; the American's eyes flashed once before returning to blank state. The lack of emotion in Nina's face gave Mara shivers. "Well, thank you, Amber," she said softly, her eyes landing anywhere that wasn't Nina. Amber nodded seriously in response. "I better – um, get going."

"Just remember what I said!"

Mara smiled and nodded before slipping out. When the door clicked behind her, she leaned back against it. _Listen to your heart. _Mara shook her head, not bothering to stop the smile that brightened her lips, before walking away. _Only Amber._

* * *

Nina sat silently on her bed, eyes empty and staring at the opposite wall. Something constricted in Amber's chest as she frowned. "Nina? You okay?"

Nina shrugged; Amber opened her mouth to gather a further explanation, but another knock on the door interrupted, a shrill slice through Nina's sullen posture. Sighing, Amber opened the door, and for the second time, was only slightly surprised by who stood on the other side. "Jerome."

"Amber," he said, his toes sliding across the floor. "Can I come in?"

Amber glanced over to Nina, who shrugged again. "Sure."

Jerome took three steps into the room; then Nina stood and left, shutting the door behind her. Amber sighed, the fist in her heart clenching tighter, but Jerome frowned. "Is she okay?"

"Probably not," said Amber, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes remained on the floor, studying the patterns of threads in the carpet and she heard him sigh.

"Amber, I'm – " he started, biting his lip; his hands fidgeted, fingers shaking against his pockets. When the word caught in his throat, Amber smiled.

"You're forgiven," she said, letting one arm fall to her side and the other's fingers curled loosing in the crook of her elbow. Jerome's shoulders relaxed and his jaw loosened, but Amber shook her head. "But that's the second time now – you're not going to get a third chance."

"Amber – "

"I mean it!" said Amber, stepping back. Her voice softened, but Amber hoped the gravity of her words weren't lost. "I don't think Mara would like to date a jerk, Jerome."

"I know," he said, releasing a loud breath. His weight shifted to one foot. "Thank you for everything though – for going out with me, for helping me with Mara – for forgiving me about the election posters – for, well, even mending my uniform that one time."

Amber can't help but laugh. "That was – what, like two years ago?"

"Yeah," said Jerome, shrugging, his arms crossing over his chest again. "But still. You do a lot Amber."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm glad someone notices." Her smile betrayed her nonchalance; her hands felt warmer than usual.

Jerome shrugged again. "You still going to the dance then?"

"Of course," said Amber, "there's no way I'm missing it."

"Who are you going with?" asked Jerome, frowning slightly. "Because while I like you, Amber, I think I want to go alone – "

"Oh my god." Amber's eyes widened as her eyes caught on the purple strands of the carpet. "I'm going to the dance _alone_!"

"Amber – "

"I mean," said Amber, panic rising and her feet already pacing across the floor, "I can't go with you or Alfie, that would just be mean. Mick's still with Mara, technically, and there's no way I'm going with Fabian – "

"Amber, it is possible to attend a dance by yourself."

Her head whipped in his direction; her neck cracked as her eyes narrowed. "Maybe for you. I – I can't – "

Jerome rolled his eyes and said something about leaving and things to do, but Amber's thoughts ran, a frenzy of possible solutions and lists of eligible dates. The thought of going _alone _–

Amber caught herself biting her nails; but Jerome was already gone, the door shut again, and Amber didn't hesitate before grabbing the nearest phone book.

* * *

As the door closed behind him, Jerome crashed into Nina.

"Sorry Nina," he said, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, arms crossed as she hunched over. Jerome frowned. "Hey." Nina looked up because she had to, her eyes a dull gray, the flickering reflection of his hair the only light. "I'm sorry."

Nina stared at him; she wasn't frowning but she wasn't smiling and Jerome wasn't sure if she forgave him or not. But she nodded and raised an eyebrow, in expectation that he'd move out of the way. But a rock still weighed down in his stomach so he swallowed. "And I'm not the only one who needs to apologize." Nina stepped back, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched further inwards. Jerome sighed as he realized the impact of his words. "I mean – you don't need to apologize to _me_, I'm the one who messed up. But – there are people who you need to apologize to. You're in the wrong too and you should make it right."

Nina said nothing. Her eyes flash briefly – Jerome thought he saw gold and purple flickering, a firefly dancing in the night – before she bit her lip, the corners of her lips turning downwards. Her frown was thoughtful; her deep breath lifted her shoulders, and although she still embraced herself, she stood straighter. "I'll keep that in mind."

The weight lightened in his stomach so he nodded and walked away.

* * *

Nina paused in the hallway, watching Jerome disappear around the corner. She waited for the churning guilt in her stomach to abate – or even disappear – but instead it grew; boiling, the hot acid stirred and simmered, clenching around her chest, making it harder to breathe.

Nina let herself smile – she missed this. She missed _feeling_.

Her feet climbed down the stairs, but once again, her skips were voluntary; as she reached the ground floor, Nina's fingers grazed against the old wood, the cracks and dents harsh against her soft skin. The texture told a story, a puzzle waiting to be cracked, and with the prospect of Sibuna back together again – slowly, eventually, soon – the adventurous spirit took hold again.

Nina ran into Alfie halfway to his room; her shoulder rammed into his arm and he hissed in pain as she rubbed the soreness away. Alfie blinked at the sight of her. "Nina?"

"Hey Alfie," she said softly, eyes averted for the moment as the flames continued to spread; the painful movements had devolved into constant tingles, a buzz in each limb. "Um, I wanted to – well – " Alfie raised an eyebrow and Nina sighed loudly, her breath hot. "I'm sorry, Alfie. I keep doubting you and ignoring you and not taking you seriously – "

"It's okay, Nina," said Alfie, a small smile gracing his face. Nina studied him; his eyes were soft and brighter, bags lining his skin, but still seemingly glowing. "It's my fault for never taking anything seriously."

"But you _do_," said Nina, running a hand through her long hair. "When you were in the cellar – and when Patricia disappeared – "

Alfie shook his head, effectively cutting her off. "Still," he said, sighing. "It's okay to tell me to shut up every now and then."

The bubbling eased; while her blood felt warmer still, something calmed, and as Nina nodded and smiled, her breathing steadied as well. "I'll keep that in mind. But," she said, pausing and biting her lip before the hand released and the orange flame ignited again, "you can't just sit quietly and do nothing all the time, Alfie."

Alfie remained silent, his eyes tightened but restless. Nina wondered if the thoughts that whirled past ran in the direction she intended; Alfie rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, and Nina felt triumph.

"I'm – uh, going to go grab something to eat." And so, Alfie left, and Nina grinned and leaned back on the wall. Despite the dust gathering on her lavender and white striped shirt, Nina could see the remnants of her rainbow nail polish.

* * *

Alfie ran into Patricia just when she was leaving the kitchen, a glass of water in her hand. She stopped, stared at him, and Alfie thought he saw her gulp.

He opened his mouth to say something – _anything: I'm sorry I didn't just tell you, I'm sorry I got involved with Mick, I'm sorry about everything but I like you and do you like me too? _– but before he could even inhale, Patricia disappeared from the room, dark hair a veil between him and her.

He was left staring at the empty doorway, wondering – with his stomach sinking and his heart clenching – when Patricia had died a streak of hair black.

* * *

The water almost spilled onto the hallway floor when Patricia – literally – ran into Jerome.

Her shaking hands managed to steady the glass, but her breath clogged her throat, hair swaying across her face and her heart threatening to burst. Everything was pink and red and white and _black_ – goddamn Valentine's Day – but she calmed enough to open her eyes.

Jerome raised an eyebrow, hands sliding into pockets, his pale yellow shirt clashing violently with his hair. His khakis seemed darker than usual, especially when his thumbs hung out the sides, curling into his thigh. Narrowing his eyebrows, he suddenly brought his arms around his chest. "Something on your mind, Patricia?" he said. His lips turned upwards when mauve lined his eyes. "Or _someone?_"

"Shut up, Jerome," said Patricia, her fingers tightly curling around her cup. Her hands no longer shook.

"Ah," said Jerome, the smirk wider now. "Seems I hit a nerve. Run into Alfie then?" Patricia seethed, red and _black_ battling in her stomach, acid running through her blood, the water warming in her hands. Despite the clouding in her vision, she saw Jerome frowning when his hands slipped out of his pockets. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Doused, it was all white and dull black, pink and gray swirls cooling the boiling water in her hand and heart. "You already apologized," said Patricia, her eyes falling to the floor.

"Not out loud," said Jerome, rolling his eyes. "But I thought the bet would be a good way to get back at Mick – I didn't think – "

"Expectations aren't always the reality." Her voice cracked, and she could hear the turmoil of colors tumbling to the floor.

The smirk returned. "So that's it," said Jerome, purple and orange dancing behind his blue eyes. "You're afraid to feel something for Alfie because you think it won't work out."

"It _won't_," said Patricia, her grip returning around the cup. "I just – know, okay?"

Jerome watched her; his eyes searched and flickered, his silver rising in that moment. Then he smiled and nodded. "Okay. Just – talk to him? You owe him that much."

"I know."

Jerome nodded again, a soft blue lining the lips of his smile, before turning to walk away. He almost reached the corner before Patricia found her voice.

"Talk to Mara, Jerome." He paused, frozen between movements. Patricia sighed. "You owe her that much." Moving past him, Patricia shoved him gently in the direction of her own room, before turning around the bend. "Go."

Her whisper echoed in the still hallway, and Patricia didn't wait to see if Jerome listened.

* * *

The border filled in nicely, a foundation for a completed puzzle. Straight edges marked the boundaries, but cardboard was still too difficult to bend at will. Each piece had its place; but all pieces had to be placed.

* * *

The house seemed warmer, sunlight seeping in from the windows. As Jerome dragged his feet against the floor, the scraping sounds didn't echo harshly against the silence. There was something boiling, waiting for someone to trip and fall, to scream or yell, squeezing against the walls and simmering in the air. Dust no longer lingered, swirling, and when Jerome stood before the door he dreaded reaching, he could hear soft whispers and hesitant giggles all around him. The birds chirped outside.

Choosing not to knock, Jerome swung open the door and leaned against the doorframe. He thought he heard Victor grunting somewhere behind him. "Mara," said Jerome, arms crossed over his chest.

"Jerome," she said, sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book sprawled across her lap, wavy hair framing her face. "What do you want?"

He paused, a moment to watch her irritated gaze and tapping fingers and scrunched nose. Then Jerome sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and quiet. But Mara heard him, he expected, because her eyebrow lifted; the silence that followed constricted around him, her hard eyes never leaving his, her mouth never straying from the rigid line her lips pursed in. Jerome gulped when Mara studied him without speaking, her unblinking eyes boring into him: his guts and heart and soul and blood lay before her, no bones or muscle or skin to protect himself.

The silence continued, however, and Jerome squirmed, the wooden frame cutting into his spine; his arms tensed and air clogged his lungs. "Mara?" he finally said, croaking, a sense of loss in the uncertain breath. The room still constricted as heat grew, but Mara finally spoke.

"Have you talked to Mick?"

Jerome blinked, his frown surprised and uncertain. "No, I haven't, but what – "

"Then get out."

He blinked again, no longer breathing or able to hold himself together with just his arms squeezed around him. Fire erupted, the smoke in his throat and flames on his face and ash in his gut. Without comment, Jerome stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him, and the house was silent no more.

* * *

When Mara found Fabian, curled up against the wall and facing the door to his room with no emotion in his eyes, all the tension pooled between her shoulders eased. Something in her chest softened; quietly, she slid down the wall beside him.

"Hey," said Fabian, seemingly sensing her presence since his eyes were still glued upon the wooden door. "I didn't hear you."

Mara wrapped her arms around her knees as she hugged them towards her. "Yeah, well – I was looking for – but I didn't want to see – " her words tangled amongst themselves, tripping over unmade conclusions and confused thoughts. She sighed, letting her head hit the wooden wall behind her. "This is stupid."

"This reminds me of a movie," said Fabian. Mara glanced at his face, where he wore a tiny smile, but sadness clouded the possible brightness.

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Heartbeat. Mara stretched out her legs, her hands falling into her lap. Her nails looked cracked and chipped in the uneven lighting, but somehow they felt smooth when she ran them against her thighs. "Ever since – ever since Joy went missing and Nina came – actually, no," she said, frowning and Fabian looked at her. "Ever since you worked with Patricia and Joy on that one history project, we stopped hanging out. But now – " Mara met his eyes and she saw the realization rising; her chest tightened. "Now we barely _talk_, Fabian."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't apologize – it's not your fault. It just – happens."

Fabian shook his head, his head lazily resting against the wall. "Not if you make the effort."

Mara couldn't respond; something violet twinkled behind Fabian and she knew he spoke the truth.

The sun glared in the wide window of the hallway, slowly settling behind the horizon. As Mara stood, she sighed and gathered her feet and wayward thoughts. Fabian's eyes followed her movements. "You okay?" he asked.

"I will be," she said. At first she thought she was lying, but confidence settled between her words and chest. "We all will be, eventually."

Fabian stared at the door again. "I hope so."

Mara hesitated, her eyes also resting upon the closed door, the wall between her and _him_. "Is he – "

"Mick's hiding out in the laundry room," said Fabian before she finished. "I – I just don't want to be in there right now."

Biting her lip, Mara bent low again, putting her in level with Fabian. "If you ever need to talk – "

Fabian nodded, Mara smiled, and they let the silence finish the conversation. Before standing, Mara ruffled his hair and backed away, Fabian's indignant groan settling calmly within the cracks of the hardwood floors.

* * *

Fabian was about to swing open the door to his own room, but Patricia blocked him with a firm hand and hard eyes. "Hello?"

"Can we – "

"I don't like you, Patricia," said Fabian, gently nudging her arm out of the way. He noticed her forehead scrunch up; he sighed. "I mean, I _like_ you, you and Joy were – "

"Fabian, shut up," said Patricia, rolling her eyes and leaning back against the doorframe. As she crossed her arms, her eyes lingered on the floor. "I get it. I just – I'm sorry."

Fabian raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"I – I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It feels like the right thing to do." Patricia's lips teased a small smile; Fabian shook his head.

"Well, I accept your unneeded apology and offer one of my own." After Patricia nodded, Fabian reached once more for the doorknob. "Wanna come inside and talk?"

Patricia glanced back at the kitchen before shaking her head. "No – I just – I wanted to say hi, I guess." She smiled, another light illuminated, but her eyes still seemed dull. "Thanks, I guess."

Her foot outlined a half circle on the ground and Fabian frowned. "Patricia, why did you kiss me?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The other day – you kissed me. You said not to read into it, but…"

Patricia rolled her eyes again. "Idiot, I meant it. It meant nothing. I was just – upset." Fabian stared at her, unspoken questions screaming in his eyes instead. "At Alfie. At Nina," she said, "I wanted to make her – well, jealous."

Something akin to a flame lit in his mind, but Fabian suppressed all hope. "Why would kissing me make Nina jealous?"

And Patricia _looked_ at him, so the pieces aligned and Fabian bit his lip to keep them from turning into a smile. Patricia – predictably – rolled her eyes. "Nina likes you, Fabian. And obviously you like her too. So just get on with it."

"I wish it was that easy, Patricia," said Fabian, leaning against the door as well. "But – she thinks I like _you_."

"But you don't."

"No."

"So tell her that."

It seemed so simple in those four words, but Fabian ran a hand through his hair. Shaking his head, he straightened. "It – I can't right now."

"But Fabian – "

"Just leave it." Patricia quieted, stepping back and surrendering. His hand ran down the door before resting on the knob once again. Before he could turn it, however, a missing piece sparked his attention. "Wait, how did Nina make you upset in the first place? Is this about – "

"This is not about Alfie, okay?" said Patricia, shoulders hunched over and arms crossed over her chest.

Fabian tried not to smile. "I never said it was." Patricia glared at him and Fabian chuckled. "You _would_ do this. Run away, worry that everything will get messed up – "

"You don't know it won't," she said, her voice cutting into his.

"And you don't know it will," said Fabian with a small smile. Patricia's eyes remained locked on the empty wall before them so Fabian shook his head and left her in the hallway. As the door swung shut behind him, he tried not to let his thoughts waver towards forbidden corridors and locked doors. As he sunk onto his bed, Fabian refused let the hopeful fire overtake him.

* * *

The living room, for once, was empty so Patricia immediately claimed the long sofa; her phone spun in her fingers as she sat down. While scrolling for the number, the nervousness swirled in reds and golds and silvers, an elegant palette to hold her shaking hands. It wasn't the phone call that haunted her thoughts and fingers; it was the underlining reasoning, the highlights of pink and white and cerulean that crawl through her insides.

He picked up after only one ring. "Patricia, I was just thinking about – "

"Robbie, I don't like you. I don't want to lead you on so – "

"Oh," he said, his voice lowering and Patricia imagined that his lip quivered like a puppy's. "Okay."

"Great," she said, "see you around." _Hopefully not_. As the phone fell beside her onto the cushion, she felt only free, and slightly disgusted; there was a hint of regret in it all, a speck of gray in the clean slate, but Patricia ignored it. Although her closet grew, stuffed and tittering on the edge, she just straightened her shoulders and moved on.

Mick walked in, his baggy sweatshirt hiding his hands and his eyes dull. Patricia tried not to grind her teeth. "Mick," she said, in the hopes that she could slip out of the room. But Mick's hand slipped out and when his fingers grazed her wrist, Patricia froze.

"I'm sorry," said Mick, his eyes still on the floor and his hand retreating. His voice was a whisper lightly sitting in the room, lost and floating aimlessly. Patricia's frown softened. "I shouldn't have used you as a bargaining tool. Robbie – Robbie isn't your type, and you – you deserve better than a guy who agrees to rig an election."

Red faded to pink again and Mick's hunched shoulders reminded her of a project done at midnight; frustration boiling into tears and a meathead transformed into a human being.

"It's the moments when everything seems hopeless when we realize who _actually_ matters."

"What?" Mick looked up, a glint of lavender sneaking into his eyes.

Patricia grinned. She knew he recognized his own words, quickly scrawled across a unevenly cut card. "I broke up with Robbie. Not that we were even really dating, but – still." She shrugged. "So in a way, thanks."

"_What?" _repeated Mick and Patricia thought the confused furrowed in his forehead made everything a little more worthwhile. "I don't – "

"Oh."

Mara slid in, her arms filled with nothing and hugging her chest; Patricia glanced between the pair before smiling. "You two should talk." Mick opened his mouth, but only air left; Patricia rolled her eyes and leaned over and whispered in Mara's ear. "He's a nice guy, Mara. Don't string him along."

Mara blinked before sighing – a mixture of resignation and understanding, a cold purple to embrace the black and blue – and smiling. And Patricia left, hoping she glowed gold.

* * *

_So here Mick/Mara would break up, and then Mick would go talk to Fabian and they'd make up and they'd be apologies and smiles and such things. Mick would tell Fabian he sent Amber a Rosegram (which Fabian already knew) but also to Nina and Patricia to stir things up in an effort to win the bet. (Fabian would be displeased but nod silently. Or something.)_

* * *

Fabian slide onto the couch, sighing when he realized the room was empty. Mick's words echoed in his head, but Fabian quickly immersed himself with _Jane Eyre _while trying not to cringe at the dialogue.

When Amber skipped in a few minutes later, Fabian wanted to throw the book across the room. So her presence was a welcomed distraction and he immediately straightened. "Hey Amber."

"Fabian! You're still coming to the dance tonight, right?"

Fabian squirmed in his seat. "I don't know – "

"Of course you do," she said, waving away his excuses. "You are coming, everyone is, and it's going to be lots of fun."

"Okay Amber," said Fabian, smiling despite himself. Amber seemed pleased, taking a seat across from him. His earlier conversation still ran through his mind; despite everything, he wanted his best friend to be happy – and if it was Amber who made Mick happy…

"So I was talking to Mick earlier," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh?" Amber twirled a lock of hair, but seemed disinterested.

"Yeah, he really likes roses." Fabian's hand lowered to his neck, massaging the knots that had grown there. "And sending them to people. And stuff."

"Oh really? That's cute."

Fabian bit his lip in frustration before taking a deep breath. "Uh yeah. And he knows how much you like roses – "

"But I like tulips better," said Amber, her head tilted to the side. "Obviously."

His eyes closed and Fabian shook his head before smiling. _I tried, mate_. "So who's your date to the dance?" he asks instead.

Her face fell for a moment, but a twinkle previously hidden sparkled to the surface behind her eyes. "I think – I think I'm going alone."

"Amber Millington, going to a dance alone?"

Amber rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile gracing her lips. "I know, I know – I thought about calling people because I _know_ there are plenty of boys who'd love to go to the dance with me. But," she said, her eyes falling to the ground, "I – I think I'd rather just go with everyone else and have fun with my friends."

Fabian stared at her: she looked at the sky with faraway eyes and a gentle smile, and although there was sadness around her, her shoulders were lifted high and her hands sat in her lap almost regally. Fabian grinned. "You've changed, Amber."

And Amber laughed and shook her head as she stood, leaving the room; Fabian watched her go, _Jane Eyre_ still in his lap, glad to see the Amber Millington he'd grown to know standing so tall.

* * *

_Amber goes to Mick and tells him she never really liked Jerome like that. She somehow cons him into writing something down for her and recognizes the handwriting instantly. Then Amber asks Nina is should date Mick again/if it'd be a good idea._

"_Did he break your heart?"_

"_Yes."_

"_On purpose?" _

"_No." _

"_Did he cheat?"_

"_No."_

"_Is he perfect?" _

"_No."_

"_Do you want to date him again?" _

_Amber paused, her fingers crushed together. She nodded. "Yes."_

_Nina shrugged and leaned back against her bedframe. "Then absolutely." _

_Amber and Nina then talk about fairy tales [Mara = Belle ; Amber = Charlotte ; Patricia = Jasmine ; Nina = Ariel] for some unknown reason. Plus there's a mention about how Amber now loves V-Day and Nina hates as a parallel to the first chapter. _

_Amber eavesdrops on Nina and Patricia, who comes to them to apologize to Nina and Nina also apologizes and Patricia helps Nina pick out a dress and they, plus Amber who was obviously eavesdropping, discuss Patricia's fear of intimacy._

* * *

Nina stuck her head into the doorway, merely nodding towards a completely dressed Alfie, before turning to the other occupant. "Have you talked to Mick yet?"

Jerome, hands halfway through buttoning up his white shirt, froze and frowned. "Do you _knock_, Martin? I could have been naked – "

"Did you?" she asked again, hand still on the doorknob and her hair still in curlers. Standing with a hand on her hip and an expectantly raised eyebrow, Nina ignored Alfie trying not to laugh.

"No, I haven't, and everyone needs to – "

But Nina had already slammed the door shut, effectively cutting him off, and she hoped the message was clear.

* * *

Alfie laughed while straightening his bow tie. "She has a good point."

"I don't want to talk about this, Alfie," said Jerome, grunting as he tucked in his shirt into his dress pants. "Just – leave it."

Alfie laughed again, but only shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Jerome saw him slip out into the hallway, his shoelaces still untied.

Jerome had just put on his suit jacket when there was another knock on the door. "Come in!"

Fabian – fully dressed and hunched over uncomfortably as he adjusted his jacket sleeves – shut the door behind him as he entered. "Hey Jerome."

"Rutter." If it had been any other day, there might have been might have been some bite behind his greeting; but now Jerome was just exhausted.

Fabian's fingers kneaded his jacket's cuffs. "I, uh, just want to talk – "

"If you're here to tell me to talk to Mick," said Jerome suddenly, his attention focused on matching the correct buttons on his jacket, "please don't."

Despite the interruption, Fabian straightened and Jerome's hands tightened. "Don't hurt her."

Jerome looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Who?"

"You know who, Jerome."

"I'm pretty sure Voldemort's dead, Rutter."

"Touché," said Fabian with a roll of his eyes. "But I'm serious – if I found out you hurt her – or _any_ of them – "

"If I hurt one of them," said Jerome, his hands at his sides now and his eyes focused solely on the other in the room, "you'd be fourth in line."

"Fourth?"

"Alfie. Mick." Jerome flattened his jacket before turning around, unable to help the way his voice almost cracked. "Myself."

He could hear Fabian shuffling behind him, but neither broke the silence enveloping them. Jerome continued to slowly – _painfully slowly_ – get ready, until Fabian finally sighed.

"Good luck, Jerome," said Fabian as the door swung open. "But I have a feeling you won't need it."

The door closed before Jerome could breathe out a _thanks_ but he found he preferred that. The silence comforted and embraced him; falling onto his bed, he picked up his first shoe and only hesitated for a moment before stuffing in his foot.

* * *

Alfie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, nervously toying with his jacket and bowtie. Fabian grinned and walked over. "Hey." Alfie nodded in greeting, but said nothing; Fabian wondered if the screams still echoed through his head, a record on replay. "I'm surprised this is actually happening."

And Alfie looked at him, a small frown in his face, but it seemed thoughtful. "I'm not," he said finally, standing straight and his lips turning upwards. "This is Amber we're talking about."

"That it is," said Fabian, glancing back towards the staircase. The rest of the hall was empty, and even the though the sun had long since begun to set, the chandelier glowed with the light of tiny flames, each a droplet of heart and soul settling back within the crevices of Anubis House. Fabian could hear Alfie sighing and leaning against the wall. "So you're going alone too?"

"Not alone, not really," said Alfie, arms crossed. He shrugged. "I've got all of you, don't I?"

"You do," said Fabian, but his smile didn't fall. "But it's still not Patricia, is it?" Alfie glared at him and Fabian could only laugh. "She'll come around. It's Patricia."

"Exactly. It's _Patricia_," said Alfie, shaking his head. "There's no way – "

When the doors to their rooms open, Mick and Jerome both exited. Fabian tried not to laugh: Jerome was buttoning his sleeve and Mick was adjusting his tie so neither noticed the other until they ran into each other. Alfie didn't even bother to restrain himself.

Mick pushed Jerome out of the way and went to stand beside Fabian at the bottom of the stairs. Jerome, rolling his eyes, glared at Alfie. "Your tie is crooked," he said and Alfie just laughed harder.

Alfie's laughter was the soundtrack to their entrance: first Patricia, in black lace and purple, hair pulled back and one arm hugging another; Mara followed her, swirls of pink and gray dancing on the white fabric of her dress as her fingers fiddled with silver embroidery; Amber glowed behind them in red, bold and steady, head held high and her painted lips grinning widely; and finally, Nina.

Fabian didn't know if she wore neon leggings and platform heels; he didn't know if her dress was pale blue or bright yellow. He didn't know if she flew across the room or if she walked because the only thing Fabian could see was her bright eyes locked upon his, gold reflections highlighting the tiny smile and nervous twitch of her eyebrows. Nina was beautiful and Fabian couldn't stop the grin that floated onto his face.

"Wow."

The word was the only noise in the otherwise still room, the girls nervously twitching and the boys staring with wide eyes. Fabian wasn't sure who said it and at whom; it could have been himself for all he knew. But he did know that it honestly didn't matter because Nina cleared her throat, looked around, and nodded.

"Let's go."

And they did.

* * *

While Amber and Nina led the group, both holding onto the other to keep steady in their heels, Alfie fell back. Mick – avoiding everyone else by staying behind with arms crossed – glanced over at him but said nothing.

"Mick," said Alfie, grabbing an arm and keeping him still. Mick raised an eyebrow. "I – " his voice halted, suddenly faced with a blank mind in the face of an important conversation. "I – "

"You'll always be Jerome's best friend, Alfie," said Mick instead, his arms loosening around his chest. "But that doesn't mean you can't be my friend."

Alfie paused; there was a purple tint to everything around him, prominently from the setting sun, and Mick's hair seemed to glow in it. "You're right." Mick opened his mouth for a moment before closing it, and despite himself, Alfie had to laugh. "Wow, don't look so surprised!"

"I – I didn't expect you to suddenly forgive me after – "

"It was my own decision to help you. And besides," said Alfie, shrugging his shoulders and beginning to walk again, "I already forgave Jerome, so there's no reason not to forgive you too."

And Alfie jogged away, hoping to catch up with the rest of the group, willing himself not to turn around to catch a glimpse of Mick's face. He could live without that moment of entertainment.

* * *

There were missing spaces and spotted holes; the final pieces seemed properly aligned, but somehow remained elusive. If pieces were rotated, or flipped, or abandoned, it might have finally finished the entire picture. But forcing pieces into empty spaces only left ripped apart paper and imprinted fingers.

* * *

Amelia Pinches was the first person Mick saw once inside, looking surprisingly put together; Mick suspected it was the way her eyes glowed when the song switched. "So are you really going out with Nina Martin?"

Mick sighed loudly. The others had dispersed already; despite the quiet understanding rising between them, the screams still echoed through his head, and Mick wasn't sure if all had been forgiven yet. But Amelia looked determined and eager and Mick shook his head. "No, I'm not dating Nina. It's just a rumor."

"Are you sure? Because that redhead over there says – "

"Mick and I are not going out," said Nina, slipping beside Mick and he wondered where she even came from. But she was there and nodding and backing him up and Mick appreciated that. Nina nodded in the direction where Amelia was pointing. "That girl? The one all over Jerome?"

Mick raised an eyebrow; indeed, there was a redheaded girl, her skirts flowing around her legs and her hair braided and curling around her arm, her smile bright and eager and clearly annoying Jerome.

Amelia nodded. "Yeah – but I guess if she knows Jerome – "

"Then the rumor probably isn't to be trusted," said Nina, and maybe a day ago there would have been malice twisted in her words; but there was only fondness now and Mick's stomach churned.

Amelia glanced back over at them, her eyes flicking between Mick and Nina; finally she shrugged and walked off, her eyes searching through the crowd and Mick had a faint idea of who she was looking for. When Alfie slipped out of the room, his suspicions were confirmed.

Mick felt Nina's eyes on him but the tightness in his chest constrained him from looking over. The words stuck in his throat; with so many apologies begging to be said, it was difficult to breathe.

But Nina never said anything; she nudged him gently, nodded once, and tilted her head back at Jerome. Mick bit his lip. Nina rolled her eyes and pushed him. Mick groaned and left, but not before shooting a look at Nina, grateful that their leader had returned.

He was a couple of feet away when his heart started up again. "Amber and I broke up," said Jerome. Several others were in listening distance and Mick was sure that was purposeful. "It just didn't work out."

The whispers grew, as if following him, and when Mick stepped beside Jerome, he could hear one girl saying, "I heard Mick and Nina _aren't_ going out, but that Mick and Mara broke up too." Her eyes burned on his skin, but Mick gulped and ignored it.

"Clarke," he said instead, turning to his fellow blonde. Jerome's eyes flashed twice; once in recognition and then in panic and before Mick could stop him, Jerome faded into the crowd, the invisible puppeteer off to measure his strings.

Mick sighed; when he turned around, Nina was gone, but he imagined she would have just shrugged.

* * *

Jerome slipped between two couples dancing to the corner of the room, hoping the darkness would hide him for the moment. His insides shook, saliva building in his throat; he could still see blonde hair standing out in the crowd, but the prospect of _talking_ to him – the acid burnt.

But the shadows could't shroud him forever; when Amber walked up, her heels clicking against the floor, her arms were crossed and her frown deepened the hole in his gut.

"Jerome," she said, the sharpness of her voice chipping into the stone wall, scattered dust already piling at his feet. "Nina tells me you've been avoiding Mick."

"I'm not _avoiding_ him – "

"Yes you are," said Amber, flipping locks of hair behind her shoulder. "It's really obvious."

Jerome decided not to argue; Amber's eyes narrowed and flashed and Jerome knew that meant she knew what she was talking about. Instead, he sighed. "I'm just – Mick and I are too different."

"So? So are you and I, but I'm still your friend."

Her tone was a razor blade across the stone; another chip, more dust swirling around them, and now Jerome felt his heart beating. His jaw relaxed as heat pooled behind his eyes and Amber blinked when Jerome's shoulders hunched. "Mick doesn't want to be my friend, Amber."

And then Amber laughed, almost drowning out the loud beats of pop music blaring through the speakers. "Mick isn't a bad guy, Jerome. You should stop being stubborn."

"I'm not a bad guy either," said Jerome, his hands buried in his pockets.

When Amber grinned, her smile mirrored warmth into his chest. Everything was red and gold, as if a lion roaring for attention had crawled beside them. "And you're the only one who thinks otherwise," she said, her hair cascading around her. Her hair glowed gold; her dress burned red.

Jerome hated that his throat stopped working at that moment, because Amber's nod and smile was more infuriating than the sight of Mrs. Robinson spinning in Mr. Winkler's arms.

* * *

After watching Jerome storm off behind the blankets covering the entrance, Amber let herself admire her own handiwork.

Despite the mood lighting, the array of colors flashing across the room highlighted the various dresses and styles. Somehow the stage seemed to melt into the floor, seamlessly creating the illusion that room was larger than it really was; Amber thought the banners curled around the doorway really did highlight the royalty of the event. Overall, she'd say she was pleased.

"Nice job," said Alfie, sliding up beside her. He carried a drink in one hand, swirling the soda around several times before finally looking at her. "With the dance – with getting everyone here."

Amber smiled. "Couldn't have done it with out you, Alfie." She paused, smiling as she watched two students dance in the middle of the room; there were a few others who had joined them as the music picked up. "I'm glad everyone is enjoying themselves."

Alfie glanced over at her then, and Amber wondered what it was in his eyes that made her swallow. He shook his head with a fond smile. "Amber Millington, I think you've grown up."

And Amber threw back some of her hair, grinning. "Well congratulations Alfie Lewis on not doing so." Amber laughed again when he rubbed the back of his neck, ears tinged pink, muttering something about _he's grown up what are you talking about_.

* * *

_Alfie tries to convince Mara that Jerome has bad qualities, but so does everyone "no one's perfect, Mara." Alfie tells her Jerome was the one who sent that Rosegram_

_Mara talks to Mick and they talk about being exes and whether that means they can be friends (spoiler alert: it does)._

* * *

A spotlight pierced the dimmed lights. Mick felt Mara step sideways, their conversation for all purposes finished. On stage, heels clicked against the wooden flooring until the microphone was pulled down and the halo surrounded her golden hair, the angel serenely taking the spot where she belonged.

Amber grinned, and Mick immediately recognized the mischievous tint. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath.

"So I know that usually this is done at the end of a dance, but as your dance chair – " she threw a wink at Mara " – I've decided that we're going to switch it up a bit. However, because there was no time to vote, I'll just be picking the dance's king and queen." Groans followed, but Amber – ever focused – ignored them all. "First – the King: the handsome and brilliant – Jerome Clarke." Polite applause followed, hushed whispers filling the pauses.

_But they broke up_. The thought repeated through his head over and over again, a reassuring mantra against the confusion. Control ran away from him.

"And for the Queen," said Amber softly, hesitance and regret mixing together to seize his heart. He wanted to run up to her and hug her; he wanted to hand her that tiara and dawn that crown and suddenly and magically be able to dance.

Heartbeat.

"The lovely and beautiful – Mara Jaffray."

Silence reigned throughout the gym – no comment, no movement, no breathing. The insides of Mick's stomach flipped and twisted, but there was no beast growling or fighting. He wasn't jealous; he was just _shocked_.

Quiet lasted for too long as Mara awkwardly glanced between him and Jerome. Mick's eyes met Amber's for only a brief moment, but it was enough. He smiled, he nodded, and he clapped. The slow applause of others joined him and quickened pace, welcoming Mara to the throne as she placed the tiara gently on her head. Once her eyes fell on Jerome, their shared gaze never broke.

Music filled the hall as Amber left the stage, leaving the royalty alone. But while the spotlight highlighted Jerome and Mara, Mick's eyes followed Amber as her dress danced around her calves and her hair fell upon her face.

Heartbeat.

He pushed past the now dancing crowd, bypassing a smirking Fabian. Mick shot him a roll of the eyes, but merely laughed when Fabian shot him a thumbs-up in return. When Nina walked up, Mick raised an eyebrow significantly, but bumped into Alfie.

"Sorry, Alfie," said Mick, frowning. Alfie just smiled; his eyes seem to follow someone behind Mick, who turned around, blue eyes quickly finding blonde hair. "I better – " said Mick, glancing over at Alfie. Alfie nodded once, silently, his eyes bright and his smile small. "Right."

And Mick left, his eyes scanning the crowd for Amber.

* * *

_Not really jealous of Mick and Amber, Alfie sees Nina avoiding Fabian and goes to talk to her. "He likes you. He knows it, I know it, the janitor knows it. You're the only one who doesn't." A battle rages in her mind; he wonders if she's debating listening to him or ignoring him and fire stirs momentarily in his gut. But Nina nods, a ghost of a smile teasing at the corner of her mouth. "I hope you're right."_

_Nina runs into Mara and they talk about forgiveness / spot Amber and Mick separated by people and Amber slipping out of the gym / Mara decides to go looking for Jerome and Nina finds herself beside Patricia. They stand quietly, no words needed. (Alfie and Fabian find them like that, standing quietly, just watching the people around them.)_

_Mara confronts Jerome and Mick interrupts accidentally ("have you guys seen Amber?") but Jerome falls into habits and is extra snippy with him and Mara has enough._

* * *

"Sorry," said Mick, glancing between Mara's retreating figure and Jerome. "I didn't mean – "

"Stop," said Jerome, running his hand through his hair. He was _so done_ with this. "I don't want to hear it."

Mick took a step forward, eyes narrowed. Jerome did his best not to punch him. "You can't keep blaming me for everything _you_ do wrong, Clarke."

"I'm not _blaming_ you for anything, _Campbell_," said Jerome, letting the name drip off his tongue like bitter acid. But somehow, it still felt sweeter. "Mara – she's just – "

"She's sick of it," said Mick. His arms were crossed and he was no longer looking at him. "Just like me. Just like you."

Jerome waited. He waited for the punch line, the final blow; but nothing came, and instead Jerome sighed. "I guess we tied."

Mick looked up, eyebrows furrowed. "Huh?"

"The bet," said Jerome, sighing and leaning back against the cool lockers. "We tied."

"Nah," said Mick, an inkling of a smile hovering in the corner of his lips. "The night isn't over yet. It's still undecided."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "I think we all know how this going to end, Mick."

And Mick grinned. "Do we, Jerome?"

In that silence that followed, Jerome watched. He watched Mick stare back at him with no malice in his eyes, no jealousy between them. It was just two friends, standing in the quiet, waiting. "Thanks," said Jerome, muttering quietly.

Mick shrugged. "It's nice to know you can care about people, you know?"

"I care about – I care about you, Mick," said Jerome, voice still low and barely audible. But Mick must have heard him because he frowned back in surprise, eyes slightly wide. "But that stays between us."

Mick cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should – you should go find Mara, mate. She's probably heading out otherwise."

Jerome tilted his head, and he understood that Mick's unsteady gaze – concentrated everywhere else but him – was indication of an unspoken blessing. "Truce?"

Heartbeat. "Truce," said Mick.

And Jerome slapped him on the back as he walked away.

* * *

In the center remained a hole; images of happiness and laughter radiated from the entire puzzle, and yet something was missing – a final piece of forever.

* * *

"I'm sorry it doesn't seem like I trust you. I trust you with my life on a daily basis – but – I do. I – I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I couldn't just _say_ it."

"Say what?"

A pause; Fabian took in a deep breath before smiling. "I like you, Nina. A lot. Maybe even – " But he stopped, because her fingers lingered over his face, outlining his jaw and curling into his hair and all he can see is her eyes shining and her lips smiling.

"Me too," she said, before meeting him in the middle.

* * *

"Patricia."

Closing her eyes to steady herself, Patricia slowly turned. "Alfie," she said, keeping her hands buried deep within her coat pockets.

"You leaving already?" he asked, biting his lip, his foot drawing uneasy yellow lines on the floor.

Patricia smiled a little. "Isn't really my thing. Dances," she said, shrugging and nodding towards the door of the lounge. "I came for – " she stopped then, biting her lip. "I came for you guys."

Alfie stared at her for a moment. "You wanna head back to the house? Watch a movie?" When Patricia hesitated, he smiled. "As two people, hanging out, enjoying each other's company. No more."

"But no less?" she asked. Because every time she looked at him, she could only see the red and orange fire drawn around him, and even though she knew better, all she wanted to do was reach out and –

"No less," he repeats. "Let me grab my coat."

Patricia let herself be happy.

* * *

He found her trying to hide in the coat room. "Mara, please, can we just – talk – "

"I don't want to talk to you."

Jerome sighed, glancing at the other students staring at them. Vaguely, he noticed Alfie and Patricia slipping out of the school, but most of him was concerned with Mara, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Can you not want to talk to me in the hallway, please? We've got an audience."

Mara followed his gaze, frowning, before practically stomping out into an abandoned classroom. "Fine. Talk."

"I – I talked to Mick," said Jerome quickly, for once letting his words just leave his lips without worrying about letting his mind catch up. "We – we're good." Mara stared back at him but said nothing. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Are you?"

And Jerome gave up. "_Yes!_ I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry – how many times do I need to repeat it?" He took a step forward and was only mildly surprised that Mara didn't step back. "I'm sorry I messed up – I'm sorry I went behind everyone's back and messed with their lives – I'm sorry I'm a jerk – I'm sorry I'm not Mick – I'm sorry I'm a rotten mess and you're stuck with me – "

"It's not about _you_," said Mara finally, eyes hard. Arms at her sides, she stared up at him with thin lips. "It's never been about _you_, Jerome. You can tell me you're sorry for things out of your control – but that doesn't change the fact that _you don't care_."

Jerome recoiled; her words slapped him across the face, a throbbing scab. "I – I care," he said softly. "I – "

"Do you?" said Mara, taking another step towards him. He thought he could feel her breath on his chest. "Do you _really_ care?"

"I care about Mick," said Jerome. He wondered if his voice sounded as weak as he felt. "I care about Nina and Fabian and Alfie and Patricia and Amber. I – " he stopped, staring at her. Her eyes reflected back his own image and that was when he swallowed. His own eyes seemed – more blue. "I care about you, Mara."

Jerome knew she didn't believe him – there was still something missing, a hesitance and a doubt. And he knew that was she saw when she stared back at him. So Jerome narrowed his eyes and kissed her.

Mara kissed him back.

* * *

When Amber stepped out into the hallway, she wasn't expecting to find Mick standing there, looking completely lost. "Hey."

He whirled around, eyes suddenly brighter than usual; Amber wanted to cry. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, halfway between stepping closer to her and not. Amber rolled her eyes and met him in the middle.

"I've been – around," said Amber. "Why?"

Mick bit his lip. "Um – you want to dance?"

She realized that the song blaring in the background was her favorite – it was the song playing in the coffee shop during her and Mick's first date. It was _their_ song. "Of course." His arm wrapped around her easily, as if always meant to be there. Amber suspected that was indeed the case, especially when her hands automatically rested on his shoulders. Despite the shoddy lighting of the hallway, Amber could see the darkness under his eyes and every wrinkle in his forehead. "You need to get back to your skin regiment. You've been slacking."

"I have been," said Mick, but he was just staring at her. In that moment, Amber did not care about the music or the crowns or the even the frizz in her hair. In that moment, Amber saw only Mick, her one temporary escape from everything that did not matter. "I've missed you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, especially as the music ceased in the other room. "Only you – why did you give Mara and Jerome the crowns?"

Amber smiled. "I already know who my king is. Mara needed a little push." And she laid her head on his chest, swaying to silence.

* * *

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards him and closing the few inches left between them. Her hand caressed his face, the other stroking his shoulder, but brown never left blue.

Heartbeat.

Lips met; they danced softly, a tender embrace of whispers and confessions and passion. Shadows hid them from the rest of the world – it was just Jerome and Mara and a kiss. Friends and family and secrets sat boxed away, forgotten and ignored; his breath on her nose and her fingers through his hair were all that mattered.

The taste of infinity grazed their tongues; he loved her, she loved him, and damn everything else.

* * *

Her lips tasted like salt and the popcorn burned her throat, but she didn't care. There was soda inches away, if she felt like stretching. But stretching involved moving, and with her head on his shoulder and his fingers tickling hers, she _really_ didn't want to move.

_Attack of the Zombie _blared on the television, but she knew the lines by heart; rather, her attention remained on his breathing, how every now and then he'd chuckle into her hair. He twisted her yellow streak of hair around his fingers before blowing it away; shivers glided through her ears and down her spine. Nerves attended to every movement, every sound; each pulse of her heart sent her mind spinning.

Heartbeat.

Patricia sat in Alfie's arms, watching as a zombie bit off a woman's head, enjoying the steady rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

For her, he tried.

His feet moved awkwardly, but he held her close. He bit his lip, concentrating on his toes and hers, wincing every time his foot didn't land quite right. But she smiled gracefully, her dress flowing around them, fingers laced behind his neck.

And so they danced.

When Amber flinched because Mick had stepped on her toes, she shook her head playfully and flicked his nose. He grimaced at her, but his grin fed her heart adrenaline; contact between skin summoned palpitations from long-ago as shared looks evoked faded memories.

She laid her head on his chest. The rhythm of his heart matched her steady breaths; in-sync again, bits fell together comfortably. Jagged pieces filled jagged lines, a puzzle finally completed. Together with flaws and imperfections, a perfect match for an imperfect couple, they were still mates before dates.

Heartbeat.

The seed of doubt that grew in her mind for several weeks died that day; they would fall back in love eventually – they always did.

* * *

"The stars are bright tonight."

Heartbeat.

"Yeah."

Fingers tangled together, arms intertwined.

"Tonight was amazing."

Heartbeat.

"Yeah."

Damp grass tickled her through her dress; bladed edges prickled him from beneath his suit. The moon flashed vibrantly, twinkling stars highlighting patterns of myths and legends, mysteries and secrets.

"I think I love you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Heartbeat. "I think I love you too."

Fabian's smile rivaled the outline of the constellations and Nina's contented sigh faded into the breeze.

* * *

Far away, a clock tower inched toward the final vertical position. Violet lights danced across the darkened sky. A heartbeat later – midnight struck.

And so, Monday passed.

* * *

The last piece – the center piece – clicked into the puzzle perfectly, completing the tangled web of strings, overlapping and twisted.

Everything fit.

* * *

4_: epilogue_

Heartbeat.

"Are you serious?"

The two blondes faced each other, an uneasy distance between them. One had his arms crossed across his chest, the other's hands buried in his sweatshirt pockets. One smirked.

"I'm totally serious. A three part bet, right?" he said, his voice smug and daring.

The other frowned thoughtfully, biting his lip in hesitation. He was shocked and confused, but pleased and comfortable in the new truce.

"_Fine_," he finally agreed. "But I still don't understand how we possibly tied."

"Well, Nina and Fabian are together."

A nod. "Right. Your point."

"Patricia and Alfie – totally a thing now, right?"

An uneasy shrug. "Well – I don't think they'd define it as a _thing_."

A roll of eyes before a shrug. "If you don't want to accept my concession – " said the schemer, his lips quirking upwards.

"Okay! Okay, totally a thing," said the other, hands up in surrender. "But Amber _is_ single."

A pause. "Wait – why? What the hell, mate?"

"Hey," said the other, "she didn't want to seem like she was just jumping into another relationship. So – we're taking it slow. We're just – going on dates. Not dating."

"In that case," said Jerome, a serene blue settling over his stomach. "Then Alfie and Patricia being so undefined works out in _my_ favor."

Mick grinned. "Because now we're tied?"

"Because now we're tied."

"And in the case of a tie – "

"You're both declared losers."

Jerome and Mick both turned to the door, surprised when Alfie grinned back. Fabian stepped up beside him. "What – it's the truth."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we get it. We're scum."

"No," said Alfie practically skipping between the two blonde, "_but_ since you both lose, you both have to – what was it, Fabian?"

Fabian grinned. "Run down the hallway naked."

"_Naked_," repeated Alfie, still grinning widely. "No clothes – only socks – in front of everyone – including the girls – "

Mick glanced over at Jerome. "You know. We could use some company." When Jerome caught on, smirking, Mick turned to Alfie. "Would definitely gain some bonus points with Patricia…"

Fabian laughed. "There is no way we would ever – "

"I'm in," said Alfie, shrugging. "Maths are boring anyway."

"What!" said Fabian, open-mouthed. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, he's serious," said Jerome, arms crossed and smirk borderline devilish. "You in, Rutter?"

"Am I _in_," repeated Fabian, glancing between the other three. The silver and the gray and the orange and he was just a speck of lavender, stuck between a collage of pebbles – "oh what the heck."

The other three grinned. Four hands gripped and shook, crossed over and intangled, the completion of an age-old manly bond.

Jerome smirked, Mick let himself grin, Alfie bounced, and Fabian sighed loudly.

Anubis House stood on.

* * *

_So there was actually supposed to be a scene here where the girls see the guys streaking down the hallway, but that ending was too good so this is it._

_The End._


End file.
